Simeon’s Dilemma

Stalker's my whole style
And if I get caught, I'll
Deny, deny, deny

Today you're twenty-five
I made you something fine
It's in the palm of my new hand
It's out
You're mostly what I think about and
I'm proud
I've been coasting on this singles route
But I still hear your name
In wedding bells, will I look better or will I look the same?
Rotting in hell
You're the only proper noun I need, hurry
My copper crown's gone green
Pull me
Pull me on out of this tree, I'm stuck up a branch waiting
Clearly caught between two things unclear to me

Are you a female young messiah?
For stow aways and dugouts
And are you, what church folk mean by the good news
Pulling plastic bags off heads
Or are you giving me a dirty look in the rearview
Clicking the button on your U-Haul pen
Don't pretend you didn't see me coming 'round the bend
On my fixie with the chopped horns turned in
Trailing behind your biodiesel Benz

Stalker's my whole style and if I get caught I'll
Deny, deny, deny
Deny, deny, deny
Deny, deny, deny

Twenty-five carved with a butter knife
On the palm of my new hand
It's out, you're mostly what I think about