Sometimes I want to talk till east is
west with no care where each foot will fall.
Because I know you won't be there and darling I won't call.
It's a losing proposition, it always is, I know now.
Why act like we are better, no tether holds together our hands?
And no child will remember, so why hold on to the past?
Sometimes I want to bitch till I get
sick but I try to keep that out of my mind.
It's a ghost of a chance but so is romance on the side.
It's a losing proposition, you know it and so how
Can you not be tempered and cold when you're on the hot iron?
And can you hold together when hands pull you from both sides?
Oh don't you say it is inevitable because you've got a heart,
I've got one too.
And though I tried not to break yours, I did.
I always do.
Such things are always fragile in my hands,
But I guess that's just the lot I drew.