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You're Getting To Be A Habit With Me

de Frank Morgan

Accusations, a court room floor
And your best defense just walked out the door
And you'd like to be strong
But you'd rather be weak
And you're watching the circles
Float out of your mouth as you speak

And the words well up
And you start to explode
'Cause you've really got to know

Do you want lies, do you want truth?
Or do you want love, love, love?
Do you want war, do you want peace?
Or do you want love, love, love?
Oh, God is love

So tell me what's your label
That you're so proud to wear
And do you feast as the table of religious despair
Or would you rather put bread in a skeleton mouth
Or just turn on the TV until you completely tune out?

What are we doing
Are we wasting our time?
Tell me are we blind?

(chorus)

Don't you want love?
Don't you want love?
Oh, God is love.

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