| The kettle can’t bring me love not a thing
|
| Can warm my skin or sing like you
|
| Nothing can boil my blood and sting like you do
|
| Someday I’ll stop buying things
|
| That don’t give me the high that’s missing
|
| There’s no in between
|
| They’ll never be what was you
|
| No blanket can hold me
|
| No bathplug can stop up this hole
|
| Or control this blue no cup
|
| Can catch this spill stay filled with the feeling of you
|
| Someday I’ll stop buying things
|
| That don’t give me the high that’s missing
|
| There’s no room between
|
| They’ll never be what was you
|
| Someday I’ll stop buying things
|
| Like I’ll stop missing you
|
| I’ll throw everything out of the door
|
| You last use
|
| Objects without hearts
|
| Just like you
|
| Someday I’ll stop buying things
|
| That don’t give me the high that’s missing
|
| Someday I’ll stop buying things
|
| Like I’ll stop missing you
|
| Someday I’ll stop buying things
|
| Like I’ll stop missing you
|
| The nightgown I bought never unwrapped
|
| The bag from vacation we never packed
|
| The dryer out back the clothes that are wet
|
| Even the things you didn’t give me |
| The nightgown I bought never unwrapped
|
| The bag from vacation we never packed |