Crush the Bird

If i make allowances
I’m fine with separate, and see-how-it-is
Understood
If you think it’s good
Do they make flowers for this
What color means you don’t care how she lives
I’d expect just a little bit
Me, i wouldn’t trade
Me, i wouldn’t trade for what you’re made of
Lover becomes secretive
«don't ask
I won’t tell
We’ll see how it is»
Understood
If you say it’s good
Do they make flowers for this
What color means you don’t care how she is
I’d expect just a little bit
Me, i wouldn’t trade
Me, i wouldn’t trade for what you’re made of
Did i try too hard loving
Crush the bird you’re holding
Me, i wouldn’t trade
Me, i wouldn’t trade for what you’re made of compasses
What i want sometimes is a roof somewhere
The same one each time, like a real woman
Home, to be home
To be home
Like a black sea turtle swimming back
Sailors who sail without compasses
Right, to be right
To be right
If the stars stick why can’t i