| I don’t remember too much
|
| About the evil things we’ve done
|
| I can only tell you what I saw
|
| There was rain and soot
|
| There were lovers and blood
|
| And we learned how to feel in the cold
|
| We never talked too much
|
| But she held me in the dark
|
| And the time used to stop in her hands
|
| I could feel her go hesitant
|
| When it rained in Manhattan
|
| We took shelter in a spare room at the Grand
|
| And she calls me baby
|
| Like an old romantic
|
| But it’s hard, when you’re hurt
|
| To let somebody in again
|
| And there’s a slow song playing
|
| From a baby blue Mercedes
|
| Singing «when I get to heaven,
|
| There will be no more hard feelings.»
|
| You’ll wish for these days
|
| I’ve often heard it said
|
| I never found that to be true
|
| How easy it would’ve been
|
| If I’d never seen you again
|
| Like every other story in the book
|
| And she calls me baby
|
| Like an old romantic
|
| But it’s hard, when you’re hurt
|
| To let somebody reck you again
|
| And there’s a slow song playing
|
| From a baby blue Mercedes
|
| Singing «when I get to heaven,
|
| There will be no more hard feelings.»
|
| And she calls me baby
|
| Like an old romantic
|
| Singing when I get to heaven
|
| There will be no more hard feelings
|
| There will be no more hard feelings |