Two-Year Itch

It’s the two-year itch, the two-year itch;

not so special anymore.

It’s the two-year twitch, the two-year twitch,

with the one he used to adore.

Tappin’ on the eve of our second year,

thinkin' ’bout things, when it became so clear

that no longer am I held so dear;

too much comfort has entered in here.

A bad seedling has been planted,

so our relationship has slanted

and now I’m just taken for granted,

much like the Ocean Atlantic.