| Pretty soon you will be wanting me, to go
|
| And I will only be the enemy, you know
|
| Pretty soon you will be needing me, to leave
|
| But know that you and I will always be, naive
|
| Maybe you’ll forgive the things that I forgot
|
| Maybe you’re forgetting all the times we fought
|
| Maybe we should divvy up the things we bought
|
| But maybe not
|
| Why don’t we lay down on the kitchen floor
|
| All that we say we had with us before?
|
| We’ll find our way to what we’re looking for
|
| By separating what is mine from yours
|
| Pretty soon I’ll be the one you hold, at bay
|
| And then forever I’ll be good as gold lamé
|
| I know your heart cannot be bought or sold, for much
|
| Donder maar op, consider yourself told, in Dutch
|
| And we can argue 'till our throats are sore
|
| About how far you take a metaphor
|
| You always deign to see the glass half filled
|
| And now it seems to me the half glass spilled
|
| Maybe you’ll forgive the things that I forgot
|
| Maybe you’re forgetting all the times we fought
|
| Maybe we should divvy up the things we bought
|
| But maybe not
|
| Maybe not
|
| Maybe not |