Crush

I was gettin’ low

When you said hello

And cleaned me up, up.

I was gettin’ low

When you did the show

And scene’d this fuck-up.

My brush with the death

Of all of my fears;

My crush with the breath

Of all of my tears—

I think I love you.

Things were feelin’ slow

Then you, well, you know—

You were mad, mad cool.

Things were feelin’ slow

Then you, well, you know—

You were grad, grad school.

My brush with the death

Of all of my fears;

My crush with the breath

Of all of my tears—

I think I love you.

Let’s get together;

Let’s sweat together.

Please call me, Heather.

My brush with the death

Of all of my fears;

My crush with the breath

Of all of my tears—

I think I love you.