We always fought, the king and I. Cut from the same cloth, but me with the dirtier scissors. His was a greasy spoon. Doesn't excuse either of us. We fight, we unite, we fight, we grow distant, we fight again. We sleep, sometimes he dreams and sometimes I do. But never at the same time. Mother Earth wouldn't operate that way.
I'll be honest, I don't have it in me anymore to be angry. The climax came early. Is the world too big, or am I too small? What kind of wet dream is it anyway, one where I kill the king?
Well take me, take me back to your bed
I love you so much that it hurts my head
Say I don't mind you under my skin
I'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in
When we were made we were set apart
Life is a test and I get bad marks
Now some saint got the job of writing down my sins
The storm is coming, the storm is coming in
It's an opera bull.
