| If I could turn back time
|
| Maybe I could make you mine
|
| How could I have been so blind?
|
| Maybe I could make you mine
|
| If I could turn back time
|
| Maybe I could say hi
|
| Maybe I’d feel relieved
|
| Maybe that would give me closure
|
| Maybe that’s too naïve
|
| Or maybe I could walk by
|
| Wear my heart on my sleeve
|
| And maybe we would lock eyes
|
| And it’d be hard to believe
|
| But maybe we would both laugh
|
| And I could ask how she was
|
| And wonder if she thinks about
|
| The times we used to be us
|
| And maybe I could ask why
|
| Or maybe I would say please
|
| But maybe she’s with a guy
|
| And maybe I should just leave
|
| Or maybe I could stop time
|
| Cause the world to just freeze
|
| Make corners of this room dissolve
|
| With every breath that I breathe
|
| Until it’s just me and her
|
| And we would fall from our feet
|
| And flitter down into the pitch black
|
| With no floor underneath
|
| And we could fall through December
|
| And maybe shatter through June
|
| And we could crash land in April
|
| And wake up back in our room
|
| And she’d be there in my arms
|
| Right before she was gone
|
| And while I lay there, I’d retrace to myself
|
| Where I went wrong
|
| If I could turn back time
|
| Maybe I could make you mine
|
| How could I have been so blind?
|
| Maybe I could make you mine
|
| If I could hit rewind
|
| Maybe I could make you mine
|
| Maybe things would turn out fine
|
| Maybe I could make you mine
|
| Maybe she’s just as bored
|
| What if she’s as depressed?
|
| Maybe I should drink more
|
| Maybe I should think less
|
| How did things end so badly?
|
| How did things even end?
|
| I don’t remember exactly, don’t ask me
|
| On our way back from Atlanta
|
| We were holed up in a taxi
|
| She was asleep in the backseat
|
| I was just drinking a smoothie
|
| Jamba Juice, mango and flax seed
|
| She woke up groggy and tapped me
|
| Headphones in, bumping to Max B
|
| Looked at her, paused it on track three
|
| She sighed and looked at me angry
|
| I asked her, «What?»
|
| And she snapped back, «Nothing, it’s fine»
|
| I said, «No, what’s on your mind?»
|
| She snapped back, «Nothing, it’s fine!»
|
| I said, «Well fuck it! |
| I’m trying!»
|
| She sniffled, «Fuck you!» |
| while crying
|
| Still have no fucking idea
|
| The what, or the who, or the why
|
| But we just stopped talking
|
| And that was the end
|
| No text or call or coffee
|
| No «Let's just be friends»
|
| We sat there silently through
|
| North Carolina and West Virginia
|
| And hours and hours passed
|
| And the anxious quiet continued
|
| 'Til I fell asleep
|
| And woke up to the driver alone
|
| He told me he drove past her neighborhood
|
| And dropped her off home
|
| And that was it, and now we’re here
|
| Two dozen feet from each other
|
| It feels like years since I’ve seen her
|
| Two washed-up used-to-be-lovers
|
| We used to kiss under covers
|
| And wrestle in blankets
|
| And nestle each other
|
| But I don’t think I’ve got the courage to muster
|
| Maybe I could say hi
|
| Maybe I’d feel relieved
|
| Maybe that would give me closure
|
| Maybe that’s too naïve
|
| (If I could turn back time)
|
| Or maybe I could walk by
|
| Wear my heart on my sleeve
|
| (Maybe I could make you mine)
|
| And maybe we would lock eyes
|
| And it’d be hard to believe
|
| (How could I have been so blind?)
|
| But maybe we would both laugh
|
| And I could ask how she was
|
| (Maybe I could make you mine)
|
| And wonder if she thinks about
|
| The times we used to be us
|
| (If I could hit rewind)
|
| And maybe I could ask why
|
| Or maybe I would say please
|
| (Maybe I could make you mine)
|
| But maybe she’s with a guy
|
| And maybe I should just leave
|
| Or maybe I could stop time
|
| Cause the world to just freeze
|
| (Maybe I could make you mine)
|
| Make corners of this room dissolve
|
| With every breath that I breathe
|
| Until it’s just me and her |