You got me wound around your finger, honey,
In a way that I don’t understand.
It’s like I’m living the same day over and over, but different,
Like the old-fashioned with a twist in my hand.
The birds don’t chirp when I look at you,
The sun doesn’t go bright.
The violins don’t sing their lovely tunes,
The colors don’t seem quite right.
You’d think my heart would kill to see you,
But, now, we’ve hit the third strike.
I guess it’s because, my sweet,
I’m in ‘love’ with you, but not in ‘like’..