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I know why the writing on her face appears, |
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Because she can't say |
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All the things on her mind |
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Everyday she begs me |
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"Please, oh please you have to understand |
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And read between all of the lines" |
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Time goes down the drain, time goes down the drain |
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Love can be the same |
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Every morning, she's afraid to wash her face |
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Because she knows that no one |
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Could then read her mind |
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So instead, she passes all her time |
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By always making sure |
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That the writing is catching your eyes |
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Time goes down the drain, time goes down the drain |
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Love can be the same |
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When I try to kiss her pretty face, |
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She always shies away |
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And says, "Some of the ink isn't dry" |
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And I try so hard to sympathize, |
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But really all I know is that if I can't have her, I'll die |
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Time goes down the drain, time goes down the drain |
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Love can be the same |
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Then one day she looked into the mirror, |
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only to discover all that she read was a lie |
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Then she turned to me and said |
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"My love, I can't decide if I'm going dyslexic or blind" |
