Ariella, seven-thirty,
I don't want to get up yet,
Listen to the morning music,
Cursing the alarm you set,
As you know, I've never been a praying man,
I don't need a god to make me feel all right,
But if you wonder why I never wrote you a song,
It's because happiness writes white.
I tried to put it into words,
But the words just sound like mistakes,
I tried to find a set of chords,
But you know how long that takes me,
I can't trust my fingers,
And I can't trust my tongue,
The work is too important,
And we're no longer young after all,
When I consider what you put up with,
I'm amazed you still have skin,
When I consider what you mean to me,
It's everything,
It's e-ve-ry-thing.
Ariella, eleven-thirty,
I don't want to go to sleep,
Turn the TV off already,
Curse the hours we have to keep,
As you know, I've never been a confident man,
I've been in the tall grass all my life,
Until you came along, now there's one less thing wrong,
Even though happiness writes white.
I know happiness writes white,
I know happiness writes white, (I know happiness writes white)
I know happiness writes white, (I know happiness writes white)
I know happiness writes white,
I know happiness writes white,
I know happiness writes white.
Are you sleeping?
