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I'm glad you didn't stick |
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To my fingers like a tremble |
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A wasted fortune spent |
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On things we never felt inside |
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I count the footsteps |
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That take me away from you |
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Because I stayed too long |
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Inside this crooked frame |
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I'm glad you didn't spend the night like you had promised |
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I'd have to stretch the truth to say that I was sorry |
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And now I laugh out loud at things that aren't that funny |
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Because I stayed too long inside this crooked frame |
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I could burn my clothes and I would be alright |
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I could burn the photographs and be alright |
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I could burn the postcards, I would be alright |
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I could smile for the first time without thinking of you |
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I'm glad you didn't stick to my fingers like honey |
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I'd have to stretch the truth to say that you were pretty |
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And now I laugh out loud at things that aren't quite funny |
|
Because I stayed too long inside your crooked frame |
