Now it evens out between black
and white. A victim of choice, so matter of
factly said: "I'm working on the best two out of
three." In half-time we move, lines blurring fact
and fiction. We merely improvise. You wonder about
the truth and which version's mine. What's wrong
with losing myself in things I might have said to
you? Think about it now and all those things I
should have said, have trouble getting through.
Just speak my peace and turn away. Somewhere it
evens out betweeen wrong and right. If given the
chance, feet first she would jump right in. Her
heart will burn to ashes either way. In half-time
we move, lines blurring fact and fiction. We
merely improvise. You wonder about the truth and
which version's mine. What's wrong with losing
myself in things I might have said to you? Think
about it now and all those things I should have
said, have trouble getting through. Feeling less
remembered. Losing myself in things I might have
said to you. You never seemed to care at all.
Just speak my peace and turn away.
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