She cooks you sweet potato   You don't like aubergines   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 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 her 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 dialogue 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 falling and placating   Berate myself for staying:   I'm a fool, I'm a fool      He greets his 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...