You told me back then that its fine because its over,
And everything that happened should be all in the past.
Then why is it now, that every time we pass each other,
You'd make me feel like, that conversation was our last?

I admit that I, myself, didn't offer you my everything,
And that the chase I gave, wasn't even barely a run.
But how could I sprint, when your signs were confusing?
And the I Love You's you gave, all came out undone.

So it turns out that the rain, didn't properly end.
And puddles still form, from small drops that remain.
Those sunny skies of blue were all just make pretend;
Like parts of the weather forecast, that you failed to explain.

Second chance is a slot machine, and I'm running out of change.
So I'll drop my last coin, under the score of my name.
Because the next time we meet, either the spin goes out of range,
Or the coin comes back out, and it was all just a game.