| Some people say that we look like sisters
|
| Somehow, something in the eyes
|
| And I’d say, «Well, you know I’m flattered,»
|
| And she’d say, «Yeah, right!»
|
| She’s always been so careful
|
| Nobody more faithful
|
| I’ve always been so careful
|
| Nobody more faithful
|
| When she moved out, sometimes he’d call me;
|
| I never should have answered
|
| Sometimes you give, you’re giving all you have
|
| And sometimes you’re the taker
|
| Like the whole world went and slipped my way
|
| And yet I didn’t want nothing
|
| So unequal. |
| Like unearned praise
|
| Like someone I don’t recognize
|
| Was looking back from my own eyes
|
| We’d sit, and we’d find ourselves talking for hours
|
| And sometimes she would cry
|
| Waving her hands as though to ward off something
|
| Telling you she’s fine
|
| Sometimes you have to decide
|
| What is wrong and what could be right
|
| But I was too «kind»; |
| I was on every side
|
| As though to try to make amends
|
| For all the distances
|
| There have always been between
|
| You and I — me and the sky |