From the album Ö
This isn't a love song. It's a dependency song dressed up in butterflies. The speaker claims they've discovered love for the first time, but everything here is physical compulsion—breath, dose, touch—with zero evidence the other person feels anything back or that they're even together.
I wonder if you could be mine / Running through my mind / I don't wanna waste time
The claim is urgency, but the structure is stuck. 'I wonder' is not decisive. 'Could be' is hypothetical. The speaker says they don't want to waste time while literally repeating the same three lines twice, treading water.
I think you know you give me butterflies / I want you every night
Notice: 'I think you know' means they haven't said it directly. This entire song is a one-sided broadcast. No dialogue. No reciprocation. Just the speaker announcing their need to someone who may not even be listening.
One touch, and I lose my breath / One dose and I can't go back
'Dose' is pharmaceutical. This is the language of addiction, not affection. The speaker frames losing control of their breathing as romantic when it's actually describing physical dependency. They'd rather stop breathing than stop consuming this person.
I never knew love 'til / 'Til me and you
They stammer 'me and you' four times in a row, like they're trying to manifest a relationship through repetition. But the whole song is 'I wonder if you could be mine,' which means this transformative love they're declaring might be entirely unrequited.
I'm thinking about the last time / You held me all night
One past encounter becomes 'what it feels like' as if it's an ongoing thing. The speaker is building a whole relationship in their head from a single night. The song never moves forward because it can't. It's stuck replaying one memory.
The speaker thinks they're confessing love. What they're actually doing is describing withdrawal symptoms from a person who held them once and might not come back. The butterflies aren't romance. They're panic.