Pacing the floor in the middle of this
watching the kettle 'til steam starts to hiss
A strange fascination we have with the bliss
with nothing behind us but one heated kiss.

Underneath an umbrella I stand in the rain
and wait on the platform for the six o'clock train
well you never quite hold me and I rarely complain
and soaked with frustration I walk home again.

We bid for each other in some Chinese auction
and you got the ***** one mixed up concoction
we checked out our prizes at a much closer range
What were we thinking and can we exchange?

And without any memories to dry up the tears
we long for the fire and the comfort of years
but it's just one more lesson, a good one we learned.
the slow-cooker is better and we're less often burned.

And then as I ponder you come in the door
I smile at your tired eyes and looking for more
I stir up the *** as you take off your Totes
and you ask me to make you some Five-Minute Oats.

"I made 'em already to warm up your cockles
the seat of your heart and without the debacles
I sensed that the cold rain would stir the desire
so I whipped up a batch and rekindled the fire".

And inspite of my rambling it seems rather clear
that Five-Minute Oats can mean something more dear
it's that person who waits in your kitchen above
stirring Five Minute oats into passionate love.

-Gina Morrone