Sometimes it feels like even ifEvery inch of my skin was touching yoursI still wouldn’t be close enough to you.

Call me obsessed, color me consumedI’ve always been the type to noticeThe smell of a rose in bloom,But let me confess, this is newYou’ve stopped my heart, let it resumeAnd I, to finish, must tell it trueI’m high on your perfume.

You are my drug of choiceI know you’re no good for meAnd though I swear my lipsWill never touch you againHere we are, here we are.

Love gives the best of highsBut also the worst of hangovers.