she's caring less and less   for all the people at her work   unbuttoning her shirt   she breathes and shuts her eyes   watches the light    make all the little   white blood cells   float across her eyes      pushes on the door   all her weight behind her toes   sends power to the globes   throws her keys down and clears her throat   watches them slide into the phone   before she gets the guts to go      help i've fucked this up   i'm a storm in a t-shirt   if we made this up   would all the good parts still work      he can notice rust   on the ringlets of his shoes   and yet he seems to lose   the detail in the way she likes to lean   on the seams of his jeans   until she gets the urge to move      it's a hot debate that always centres on    the lyrics to their song   and if he's talking 'bout the one that goes   to all the shows and how he knows   she's going to do his head in      when he sings i've fucked this up   i'm a storm in a t-shirt   if we made this up   would all the good parts still work      help i've fucked this up   i'm a storm in a t-shirt   if we made this up    would all the good parts still work   so i fucked this up   i'm a friend not a teacher   and so i made this up   didn't all the good parts still work