You're the nose on my bullet.
The trigger on my gun.
You're the sandbank in the ocean.
Oxygen in my blood.

You're my mind's rest.
You're the strings on my guitar.
You're the wax in my moustache,
The keys to my car.

Well, you're the Oscar Wilde short stories in my bookcase.
You're positively 4th street isolated in my itunes.
You're the word in the dictionary that I can't spell, can't describe, can't put in a sentence but use all the time.