Never touched a beer, whiskey ain't my scene
Cigarette smoke makes my lungs wanna scream
Latte art's a mystery, green tea's just a chore
Never needed a pick-me-up at four in the morn

But lately I'm wired, can't seem to unwind
Got a nervous twitch and a restless mind
Doc says I'm healthy, no chemicals to blame
Just gotta relax, but that's a losing game

'Cause I'm not an addict, but I'm addicted to you
Got a craving for your smile, a high that's something new
No withdrawal symptoms, just a constant desire
To see your face set my soul on fire

Used to sleep like a rock, silence all around
Now my brain's a jukebox, stuck on a love sound
Replaying conversations, dissecting every word
Wondering if you felt the same, every unheard

Staring at my phone, waiting for a text
Even the blinking cursor makes my heart flex
Got butterflies in my stomach, a buzzing in my head
Is this a crush or am I losing it instead?

Maybe it's just a phase, a dopamine reaction
But this feeling's so strong, it's pure satisfaction
Never thought I'd crave something this much, it's true
But honey, you're the only drug I wanna pursue

Yeah, I'm addicted to you, a love so pure
Hope you're the dealer, 'cause this feeling can't endure
Without another fix, another touch, another you
So baby, tell me, are you addicted too?

I scarce beleeve my love to be so pure
As I had thought it was,
Because it doth endure
Vicissitude, and season, as the grasse;
Me thinkes I lyed all winter, when I swore, 
My love was infinite, if spring make' it more.

But if this medicine, love, which cures all sorrow
With more, not onely bee no quintessence,
But mixt of all stuffes, paining soule, or sense,
And of the Sunne his working vigour borrow, 
Love's not so pure, and abstract, as they use
To say, which have no Mistresse but their Muse,
But as all else, being elemented too,
Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.

And yet no greater, but more eminent, 
Love by the spring is growne;
As, in the firmament,
Starres by the Sunne are not inlarg'd, but showne.
Gentle love deeds, as blossomes on a bough,
From loves awakened root do bud out now. 

If, as in water stir'd more circles bee
Produc'd by one, love such additions take,
Those like so many spheares, but one heaven make,
For, they are all concentrique unto thee.
And though each spring doe adde to love new heate, 
As princes doe in times of action get
New taxes, and remit them not in peace,
No winter shall abate the springs encrease.