Don’t like your hair.
Don’t like your style.
Don’t like your chaotic room at all.
I simply hate the way you pour coffee in a cup.
And when you give me three sugars instead of none again...
I’ll throw up for the first time in almost twelve years, I guess.
I can’t even bear your face in the early morning...
You’re like a monster with your hair undone, it’s true my dear.
Don’t like it when you call me ‘honey’ or say ‘goodnight my sweetest girl’
Maybe I’m just afraid, I’ll never wake up again if my dreams are better than you.
And that’s simple, it really is.
Can you just be patient when I have to do my hair for your mums birthday, please.
No you can’t, I’ve noticed that last time, when we were visiting your sister and her new, fifth baby of her seventh husband.
S-T-U-P-I-D stupid, is what a cheerleader would say to you!
You, with your passion for stamps and blue fishes in the sea.
I can’t even remember the last present you gave me.
Because, you gave it seven months ago when we were having dinner at Mac Donalds.
At least, you’re listening to trash but, it’s not rock & roll...
So, I can live with you for a while.