Stalker's my whole stylenAnd if I get caught I'll deny, deny, denynnToday you're twenty-five, I made you something finenIt's in the palm of my new hand, it's outnYou're mostly what I think about and I'm proudnI've been coasting on this singles routenBut I still hear your name in wedding bellsnWill I look better or will I look the same rotting in hell?nYou're the only proper noun I neednHurry, my copper crown's gone greennPull me, pull me on out of this treenI'm stuck up a branch waitingnClearly caught between two things unclear to mennAre you a female young messiah for stowaways in dugouts?nAnd are you what church folk mean by the good news?nPulling plastic bags off headsnOr are you giving me a dirty look in the rear view, clicking the button on your U-Haul pen?nDon't pretend you didn't see me coming round the bendnOn my fixie with the chopped horns turned innTrailing behind your biodiesel BenznnStalker's my whole stylenAnd if I get caught I'll deny, deny, denynnTwenty-five carved with a butter knifenOn the palm of my new hand, it's outnYou're mostly what I think about