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