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It's been 18 months since |
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I kissed you once, so just saying "hi" just isn't going to fly, |
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But if you give me a clue and a minute or two then |
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I might remember your name. |
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And I hate to insist that |
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I was really that pissed, but to tell the truth, in my flush of youth, |
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I would drown my sight until faces and nights seemed the same. |
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A nervous shrug and an awkward hug won't get me out of the hole that |
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I've dug, |
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So I slip the noose with a poor excuse and talk to someone, anyone else. |
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I sit with my friends and |
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I try to pretend that |
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I never did that sort of thing again |
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But I'm lying to myself. |
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And suddenly it's as clear as clear could be: |
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I'm not quite the perfect man that |
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I hoped I'd be. |
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And though |
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I alwasy tried to live an honest life, to tell the truth |
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I've told my share of lies. |
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I remember you, of course |
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I do, but |
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I don't recall how many times we've been though |
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Our little game, that always ends the same, with you sad and me far away. |
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And every time |
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I repeat the line that the fault's not mine and |
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I wasn't unkind, |
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But the worst part is that |
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I've got nothing else to say. |
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All the pretty little pictures of faith and firm devotion that |
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I painted as a child; |
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They have fallen by the wayside, along with all my puppy-fat, |
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But my days have taught me this: |
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That every day |
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I spend pretending that |
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I always choose the right path |
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Is a day that |
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I choose the wrong. |
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My wisdom teeth have been giving me grief; |
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They woke me up to find that |
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I'm exactly the kind |
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Of guy I said that |
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I'd rather be dead |
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Than be in the days before |
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I got laid. |
