Your love is a can of whipped cream
pressurized, but oh so sweet
tip it back to me, tip it back, I want it all
you're my midnight treat, until you're gone
Your kiss is the cherry on top
of a Sunday morning to stir my writer's block
bittersweet my love, bittersweet, know what I mean?
If I start to write again, will I be green?
Or will I get old? Or will you give up?
Or will I speak my mind, and it won't be enough?
I'm overthinkin', I'm overdrinkin', and it's a problem
I thought that we were green, but maybe this is autumn
Your love is a tattoo machine
recognized, but only skin deep
I can hear you, I can see, but I can't feel
I've been hurt before, so it's hard to know what's real
Like will I get old? Or will you give up?
Or will I speak my mind, and it won't be enough?
I'm overthinkin', I'm overdrinkin', and it's a problem
I thought that we were green, but maybe this is autumn
Ahh
Don't wanna get old, don't wanna give up
I wanna speak my mind and have that be more than enough
and I've stopped thinkin' that all this drinkin' is solving problems
it might not still be spring but we can get through autumn
I might not still be green, will you love me through autumn?
oh, it might not still be spring, but we can get through Autumn
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