Foundations

Thursday night.
Everything's fine.
Except you've got that look in your eye, when I'm telling a story and you find it boring.
You're thinking of something to say.
You'll go along with it, then drop it, and humiliate me in front of our friends.

Then I'll use that voice that you find annoying and say something like, "Yeah, intelligent input darling, why don't you just have another beer then."
Then you'll call me a bitch and everyone we're with will be embarrassed, and I won't give a shit.

My fingertips are holding onto the cracks in our foundation, and I know that I should let go, but I can't.
And every time we fight, I know it's not right.
Every time that you're upset, I just smile.
I know I should forget, but I can't.

You say that I must eat so many lemons, cause I am so bitter.
I say "I'd rather be with your friends, 'cause they're much fitter."
Yes, it was childish, and you got aggressive.
And I must admit that I was a bit scared, but it gives me thrills to wind you up.

Don't want to look at your face, 'cause it's making me sick.