And I can't ask you questions here:
Why do you sad? What was unclear?
Why did you hide your loud look?
What questions were misunderstood?

And, in the end, it's something wrong.
I can't deny it for so long.  
This interval that stands between  
Reminds me: Girl, you're just eighteen.

And I might cross all ******* lines,
And I don't care about these rights.
We both not stupid, you're not a child.  
It's time to stop blowminded fights.

And I'll ask: what hurts so much?  
Was our meeting just a touch?  
How many times did you regret,
That I'm not yours, that it's the end?