I never thought I’d revisit your street.
But here I am.
I never thought I’d pass your house.
Not going in.
We had little to do, but a lot to talk about.
I chased the American Dream, you followed your heart.
Seven years is a lot, lot of time to think about.
And since then I met nobody who knew how to work my heart.

I didn’t love you and you didn’t love me neither.
So why am I back next to your lot?
It wasn’t sweet at all and yet it wasn’t bitter.
So why do I miss that a lot?

It was something neutral, but something at least.
I never pretended to love you, but we had a good thing.

I could’ve promised more to make you stay.
Could’ve bought you flowers to wilt away.
I could’ve done so much to show I cared.
But what I should’ve said on the first day:
I’m not gonna love you like you want.
That’s one thing I wish I’d disclosed.
You talked about our lives after I marry you.
And I replied: Yes, I suppose.

It was something real, however seemed so fake.
I never pretended to love you to set the record straight.
So why am I back next to your lot?
You hid some thoughts from me, yet I miss you a lot.
And whatnot.