If your hair was a call to arms and your legs
Were what skirts are for then your mouth was a red alert but your eyes were an act of war
I needed a nurse and a mother
I needed an open-minded whore
I needed a barmaid and a lover

Someone to stand between me and the floor
But when we attacked, it was never swiftly
We must have been locked in combat for years
Our new hardwood floor was the perfect battleground
So I suppose the bullets were our tears

Okay, I know we threw some things about
And I'm sure that you got in a punch or two
And is it true your comrade's been asking if I'm the sort of man who could ever sink to hit you too?
"Why does she always have bruises?
They'd be much happier apart"

The fact is,
You've always been clumsy be it with tables at your work or with my heart.