Sia

She cooks you sweet potato you don't like aubergine
She knows to boil the kettle when you hum bars from grease
She senses you are lonely but still she can't be sure
And so she stands and waits anticipating your thoughts
How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you
How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you
He brushes thoroughly
He know she likes fresh breath
He rushes to the station
He waits atop the steps
He's brought with him a mars bar
She will not buy nestle
And later he'll perform
A love-lorn serenade, a trade
How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you
How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you