There is tension all over this morning
As we ready ourselves for the day
Every time that I turn in this tiny apartment
I seem to be right in your way
So I fall down the hall to the shower
While you fill up the toaster with bread
If silence was noise you'd be totally deafened
If looks could kill I'd have holes in the back of my head

Maybe it really is the situation
Maybe no one is to blame
Maybe we're not much of a combination
No one's breaking the rules here
We're just playing different games

So you ask me to say what I'm thinking
I tell you I'm not really sure
If I sit on my feelings you'll say I'm aloof
If I share them I'll be immature
So together we stare at the toaster
While the teapot screams out its song
If you can't stand the heat don't sit on the burner
If you don't like the music then don't sing along

You are gripping your composure
Like a climber grips a ledge
I am contemplating closure
I am inches from the edge
Then the tension boils over to anger
And you stare with disgust at your bread
Your fingers find a long strand of hair
That could only have come from my head
Then the anger boils over to action
Something suddenly flies through the air
And I'm faced with the task of extraction
Of butter and toast from my hair

Maybe it really is the situation
Maybe no one's been unfair
Maybe we're not much of a combination
You don't want hair in your butter
I don't want butter in my hair

Now we both think hair is a good thing
We both like butter just fine
Some things just don't go together
Some singers can't sing certain lines
Maybe it isn't your problem
But maybe it isn't all me
Maybe it isn't bad playing
We're just not in the same key

Maybe it really is the situation
Maybe no one's been done wrong
Maybe we're not much of a combination
We both have lovely voices
We're just singing different songs