i used to hate sundays,
but sometimes you hold
my hands in the pews
at church and i think that
i've been saved in more
ways than one

some days i think
you're a saint, and it's
stupid, because all
you have to do is
smile or refill my coffee
before i can even ask,

but it's more than
anyone else has done,
and if i let it slip
that i'm a little bit
in love,
i wouldn't even be
sorry.

you swear that you know that he
was wrong, but his hands were the
closest thing that ever felt like love,
and if he tried again, you wouldn't
tell him to stop

at night, you wonder if anybody actually
saw you today, and if they did,
had they noticed your shaking hands?

(sometimes you question if you were
taught english correctly, because every
i love you comes out as i'm sorry

and you are so tired of stuttering)

today i woke up to the radio,
and when every song sounded
like it should be ours, i couldn't tell
if i was dreaming or not

(and i am so gone
on you)