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Writing letters, only to keep them in my head. |
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Chasing my mind around, building arguments. |
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And it would be easier if you were here to defend, |
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But I remind myself that that won't happen. |
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Six more days 'til Sunday and I swear that I won't call. |
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And I suppose it's about time I took down that picture on the wall, |
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The one of you and me when we dressed up for Halloween, |
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And I'm still not sure what you were supposed to be. |
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What you were supposed to be' |
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And I know that time heals all things, |
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But I feel like time kills all things bad about you. |
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And could it really have been me who said so proudly, |
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That I'd be better off without you? |
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Day by day I work myself down to the bone. |
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And I put your arms around me whenever I'm alone. |
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And sure, I know that those arms, they aren't real, |
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But I say that anything is better than the way I feel. |
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Day by day I work myself and I smile at all my friends |
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And I say, I know it's just a second love |
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And surely it don't mean the end. |
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But when does that name fade? |
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And when do I stop using it for protection? |
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And where does one go to from perfection? |
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And I know you're not perfect, but I built you up that way. |
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And I know it's been a year, but I can't take another day. |
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And it would be easier if you were here to defend, |
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But as it stands, I'm just left with an image of perfection. |
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An image of perfection. |
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An image of perfection, whenever I close my eyes. |
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An image of perfection, and it gets me by. |
