Truffle Pasta

[ Lyrics ]

Money? Never on my table.

White linen, no menu, I just say *yes*,
your hand brushes mine like it owns the stress.
Waiter says the truffle’s flown in this morn,
you pour the Barolo like it’s just the norm.
I don’t ask the price — I already know
it’s not about cost, it’s the way you show.
A nod to the somm, a raised brow at the wine list,
you see every craving before I admit it.

No receipts, no pause, no ‘let’s split the bill,’
just silk on my skin and your quiet thrill.
You don’t speak to impress — you just *do*,
and that’s the most expensive thing I ever knew.

Money? Never on my table.
Love’s not in the cost, it’s in the stable,
silent way you move, the way you care —
luxury’s the comfort, not the air.

Fork scrapes the plate — that sound’s so clean,
like every detail’s been foreseen.
You pass me the salt like I’m sacred ground,
no need to explain, no walls, no sound
but the clink of glass and the hum of the room,
where I’m not just fed — I’m fully consumed
in the ease of it all, the grace of the night,
no ego, no show, just love done right.

No questions, no doubt, no hidden test,
just trust in the feast, in your quiet best.
You don’t buy my love — you *live* it instead,
and that’s the kind of wealth that turns hearts to thread.

Money? Never on my table.
Love’s not in the cost, it’s in the stable,
silent way you move, the way you care —
luxury’s the comfort, not the air.

It’s not the truffle, it’s the trust.
Not the wine, but the way you adjust
the light on my face, the napkin you fold —
little things whispered, more precious than gold.

Money? Never on my table.
Love’s not in the cost, it’s in the stable,
silent way you move, the way you care —
luxury’s the comfort, not the air.
Money? Never on my table.
I don’t need a crown — I’m already able.

Never… on my table.