I see the smoke but no source of fire
I've been burned before but not yet acquired
Said I'd be cool, calm and collected
But I miscalculated my affection for you
Some call it love
Oh release me from the curse
When ever I take my hand off the wheel I always wind up getting hurt
I ain't got no second hand heart
But this loves making it harder
It's those sweet little nothings
Those sweet little nothings, so good
It's those sweet, sweet, sweet, little nothings
It's those sweet little nothings, they've got me hooked
Oh this some what primitive conception
Is founded in deception so
Feed me a lie and make it true
And I'll quit questioning you
Some call it love
Oh release me from the curse
When ever I take my hand off the wheel I always wind up getting hurtô