| Oh, you had littered your clothes
|
| Across the floor where we last met
|
| Like a trail of things we never said—
|
| But what have we ever said?
|
| Still, it was 1998
|
| And we had plenty of time to reconcile
|
| But I was more concerned with what came next
|
| Then I was of forgiving you
|
| But you had not forgiven me
|
| And you would not allow your teenage heart
|
| Time to mend or time away
|
| Oh, what an ugly sight it was to see!
|
| So you told them all about me—
|
| And all the things I hadn’t done
|
| And the little white lies that birthed from your mouth
|
| Turned into such an avalanche
|
| Then your voice became so small
|
| Or everyone else’s grew large
|
| But it was far too late
|
| To pull the words back
|
| They were gone
|
| They were gone
|
| They were gone
|
| They were gone
|
| So no one will hear you scream
|
| «No one will love you like I do…»
|
| «No one will love you like I do…» |