Stalker's my whole style

And if I get caught, I'll

Deny, deny, deny

Today you're twenty-five

I made you something fine

It's in the palm of my new hand

It's out

You're mostly what I think about and

I'm proud

I've been coasting on this singles route

But I still hear your name

In wedding bells, will I look better or will I look the same?

Rotting in hell

You're the only proper noun I need, hurry

My copper crown's gone green

Pull me

Pull me on out of this tree, I'm stuck up a branch waiting

Clearly caught between two things unclear to me

Are you a female young messiah?

For stow aways and dugouts

And are you, what church folk mean by the good news

Pulling plastic bags off heads

Or are you giving me a dirty look in the rearview

Clicking the button on your U-Haul pen

Don't pretend you didn't see me coming 'round the bend

On my fixie with the chopped horns turned in

Trailing behind your biodiesel Benz

Stalker's my whole style and if I get caught I'll

Deny, deny, deny

Deny, deny, deny

Deny, deny, deny

Twenty-five carved with a butter knife

On the palm of my new hand

It's out, you're mostly what I think about