Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Butterflies, artist - Samsa.
Date of issue: 15.05.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Butterflies |
I think I’m in love |
But I’ve been feeling otherwise |
These flutters in my stomach aren’t butterflies |
But cutting knives |
And not the butter kind |
And if you listen close when she begins to speak |
You’ll hear a couple hundred sighs |
And the collective shut of eyes |
Letters linger on her lips like lullabies |
I think I’ve drowned a couple times |
Inside her opal-colored eyes |
She could do something as simple as sit down |
With the grace of Olympic dives |
A perfect 10 photo shutter finish on her cocoa butter thighs |
Catch her wearing loose pajamas on a sunday |
And she’d overshadow any supermodel on a runway |
When she wakes up in the morning |
She smells like vanilla essence |
And the bittersweet recollections of your adolescence |
Summer camp and piano lessons |
And presents you got on birthdays |
Orange creamsicles and double plays on first base |
And walk past her in the halls |
And if your shoulders feel the slightest brush |
Then you might melt to liquid gold |
The lightest kind of Midas touch |
I’ve seen the way she drinks espresso during classes |
And reshapes a paper cup into an emerald-covered chalice |
Sugar packets pouring crystals |
Napkin origami cranes |
Gunning gorgeous glances to me through her Giorgio Armani Frames |
She’s nearly perfect in |
Almost |
Every |
Way |
But she’s got shit taste in movies |
Ask her for her favorite titles |
And she always likes to say |
She’s down to go see anything by Shyamalan or Michael Bay |
And also she’s a psycho in the kitchen — it’s a travesty |
What kind of fucking monster cooks their pasta in the microwave |
And she does this thing |
Where she corrects your grammar if it’s wrong |
And clicks her tongue and winks and shoots a playful finger gun |
As if she’s won some sorta contest |
Empress victor-of-a-conquest |
Mrs. armchair shrink |
Let me fix you with a comment |
Princess kick you when you’re down |
Worshiper to a godhead |
It seldom happens that she listens to my voice |
And doesn’t chime in quick with unsolicited advice |
An unapologetic tyrant of passive aggressive rivalry |
Ask her a question |
And catch and handful of sass and irony |
And trust me, she is just the worst at board games |
Debates about the rules like legislators at a court case |
Tampers with the scales of justice |
Wielding pencils as her gavel |
Once I even caught her cheating while she kept the score in Scrabble |
She’s a fucking wreck at checkers |
Plays Monopoly sloppily |
Always bringing up disputes in games of trivial pursuit |
Sucks at Battleship and Risk |
She fights better hand-to-hand |
And don’t even get me started 'bout how trash she is at Candy Land |
(Like you can’t, like you can’t be bad at that that game yet you’ve, |
you lose all the time. |
It doesn’t make any sense.) |
But I’m no adonis either |
Fashion sense abysmal, I’ve got two nirvana t-shirts |
That I wear to formal outings |
And I’ve never owned a cardigan |
Catch me buyin' cargo pants at target from the bargain bin |
Drink milk straight out the carton |
Use my hands to scoop out margarine |
Breakfast table etiquette makes up our morning arguments |
And I’m not a glass half full kinda guy |
Shipwrecked, flags half-mast hull kinda guy |
I never was an optimist |
Not too good at compromise |
The problem is my ego’s far too fragile to apologize |
But she always calls me out |
And takes me down a couple pegs too |
It’s always nice to have somebody close who double-checks you |
And honestly, we wouldn’t be ourselves if we were different |
Yeah, she’s clumsy and I’m stupid |
Those are things that we can live with |
Being perfect’s unrealistic |
Either way I like our flaws |
The way I crack my knuckles often |
The obnoxious way she yawns |
The way I stutter when I flirt |
Cause I’m not very good with courtship |
The way she’s gotta pee the first ten minutes of a road trip |
How when she cuts her pancakes it’s in slices, not in squares |
The way my daily coffee intake is a crisis I’m aware |
The way I talk in crowded theatre |
And the way she parks in parallel |
The way she goes through pints of Ben and Jerry’s salted caramel |