text: She cooks you sweet potato, you dont like aubergine
  She knows to boil the kettle when you hum bars from Grease
  She senses you are lonely but still she cant be sure
  And so she stands and waits, stands anticipating your thoughts
  How can she become the psychic
  That she longs to be to understand you
  How can she become the psychic
  That she longs to be to understand you
  He brushes thoroughly
  He knows she likes fresh breath
  He rushes to the station
  He waits atop the steps
  Hes brought with him a Mars bar
  She will not buy Nestlé
  And later hell perform
  A love-lorn serenade, a trade
  How can he become the psychic
  That he longs to be to understand you
  How can he become the psychic
  That he longs to be to understand you
  So give her information to help her fill the holes
  Give an ounce of power so he does not feel controlled
  Help her to acknowledge the pain that you are in
  Give to him a glimpse of that beneath your skin
  Now my inner dialogue is heaving with detest
  I am a martyr and a victim and I need to be caressed
  I hate that you negate me, Im a ghost at beck and call
  Im fading and placating, berate myself for staying
  Im a fool
  Im a fool
  He greets the stranger meekly, a thing that she accepts
  She sees him waiting often with chocolate on the steps
  He senses she is lonely shes glad they finally met
  They take each others hands walk into the sunset
  Do you like sweet potato?