So tell me everything I'm gonna feel.
My stomach newly filled with butterflies,
Come on, you know you're so so fucking wise,
I'm waiting for the generous reveal.

So tell me, what's your private weather like
Up there inside your unique, pretty tower?
Is there enough love for you to devour?
D'you need a bigger, louder, shinier mic?

So tell me how exactly wrong I am
And always, always was, apparently.
Please, do elaborate on faulty me
From guesswork and the dark of Amsterdam.