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,
Stands 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 he become the psychic
That he longs to be to understand you
How can he become the psychic
That he longs to be to understand you

So give her information
To help her fill the holes
Give an ounce of power
So he does not feel controlled
Help her to acknowledge
The pain that you are in
Give to him a glimpse
Of that beneath your skin

Now my inner dialog is heaving with detest
I am a martyr and a victim
And I need to be caressed
I hate that you negate me,
I'm a ghost at beck and call
I'm failing and placating,
I berate myself for staying

I'm a fool
I'm a fool

He greets the stranger meekly,
A thing that she accepts
She sees him waiting often
With chocolate on the steps
He senses she is lonely,
She's glad they finally met
They take each other's hands
Walk into the sunset
Do you like sweet potatoes?