No joy in sadness, clearly
No joy in structure
No joy in waiting
No joy in a thing
Look through the windows of love
Pat the head of the offspring of love
Eat a meal in the kitchen of love
And chew my way home!
Inbuilt, impossible thirst
It’d just be a beesting
And then I die
When I was trying to impress Kate, I was trying to cook these amazing fancy dinners and what would happen was I would burn something, something would overspill, something would catch on fire, and she would be sitting in the background trying to help, and basically taking control of the whole situation.