These days I’ve been stuck inside, and the couch is my new bride.
She’s my betrothed and together we watch all my favourite shows.
Through thick and thin, this grey mass of furniture has truly been my biggest win.
And I’ll always vacuum the crumbs from under my *** when I’m done.

Birds of a feather, we spend days together. Pressing ourselves into one another for hours, she’s beginning to fit me like a glove.
Somehow, I know it’s more than gravity and friction that affix me to her embrace.
But is it her love that holds me down, or my inability to self-motivate?

The long, cold nights when everything is quiet, the pizza arrives to annihilate my diet.
She supports me and my pepperoni, never tells me my body’s too round or too bony.
She doesn't judge me for the gin, that's always dripping down my chin.
And I’ve decided to adorn her with a fitted sheet to protect her delicate fibres from my stinky feet.
Because she does so much for me and when I’m on her I feel a bit more free.

I love this couch, we’ve been through it all.
Heartbreak, loneliness, depression and dull.
Though I can’t help but imagine the day I show her a new friend.
When the three of us will hang out: me, the couch and a real human.

Cause I long for a real companion. One to end this long, dark famine.
No offence sofa, my friend, I love you lots but I do hope for the end.

So stick that needle in my arm already, and everyone else’s
Before I legit go nuts and **** this couch.