Why? - Simeon's Dilemma

Stalker's my whole style
And if I get caught I'll deny, deny, deny

Today you're twenty-five, I made you something fine
It's in the palm of my new hand, it's out
You're mostly what I think about and I'm proud
I've been coasting on this singles route
But I still hear your name in wedding bells
Will I look better or will I look the same rotting in hell?
You're the only proper noun I need
Hurry, my copper crown's gone green
Pull me, pull me on out of this tree
I'm stuck up a branch waiting
Clearly caught between two things unclear to me

Are you a female young messiah for stowaways in dugouts?
And are you what church folk mean by "the good news"?
Pulling plastic bags off heads
Or are you giving me a dirty look in the rear view, clicking the button on your U-Haul pen?
Don't pretend you didn't see me coming round the bend
On my fixie with the chopped horns turned in
Trailing behind your biodiesel Benz

Stalker's my whole style
And if I get caught I'll deny, deny, deny

Twenty-five carved with a butter knife
On the palm of my new hand, it's out
You're mostly what I think about