|
She can hear his car, as it pulls in the drive. |
|
She can whisper a prayer: "Thank God, he's alive." |
|
She can meet him at the door; catch him when he falls. |
|
She can even believe that it isn't his fault. |
|
But she can't save him |
|
She can make his coffee, in the cold light of day. |
|
She can make his excuses: tell the boss he'll be late. |
|
She can wave at the neighbours, then kiss him goodbye, |
|
And not say a word 'bout what happened last night. |
|
But she can't save him. |
|
Sometimes she dreams that he's caught in a stream, |
|
And the water keeps pulling him down. |
|
She reaches for him, as he pulls her in. |
|
She wakes just before she drowns. |
|
She can remember the man that he was, |
|
And still shed a tear for what he's become. |
|
She can live in that house until the day, |
|
She sees that it's only herself she can save. |
|
But she can't save him. |
|
And that day she'll know she hasn't failed, |
|
'Cos nothing can change until he saves himself. |
|
No, she can't save him. |
|
No, she can't save him. |
|
No, she can't save him. |
