The day turns gray

as you turn away,

and think you're not loved.

 

Baby, trust me when I sing

this song to you,

you're special.

 

Nearly the apple of my eye,

but still rotten enough

to make me feel good.

 

Dreams are sour when you're not

sleeping next to me,

and the days drag on

like shoes in mud.

 

Prick me like a cactus

and I promise I'll bleed red;

to show you I'm alive,

and doing well,

and that what I say 

isn't just another

foggy dream.

 

Believe me honey,

there isn't anything

better I could beg for.