I know, I know
I’ve been told so many times to give it up.
That what happened when I wasn’t there
Was what made her the girl I loved
But the problem is, now that we’ve moved on
She’s still the girl I loved
She’s still the girl who is liked
And I’m still the guy who is not.
You can’t necessarily turn feelings off,
I mean I have, but it wasn’t good
It kind of ended in misery, to be honest.
I think thats why she’s gone,
In a way I mean, on top of disasters past, and
Mainly because of everything we said to one another.
It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
That she’s probably gone on and found some other, new guy,
While I sit here at night, writing line after line
Of sad poetry and lyrical lies.
I’m sure he’s taller, of course, she likes that a lot,
She always wanted love taller than 5’9”.
It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
While I’m sitting alone at home,
Cooking dinner for one over an open stove.
Writing these god awful, sad sappy poems
That no one will ever even read.
It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
All the while I’m sitting at home
Slowly burning inside.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 12:45 AM UTC
I know, I know
I’ve been told so many times to give it up.
That what happened when I wasn’t there
Was what made her the girl I loved
But the problem is, now that we’ve moved on
She’s still the girl I loved
She’s still the girl who is liked
And I’m still the guy who is not.
You can’t necessarily turn feelings off,
I mean I have, but it wasn’t good
It kind of ended in misery, to be honest.
I think thats why she’s gone,
In a way I mean, on top of disasters past, and
Mainly because of everything we said to one another.
It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
That she’s probably gone on and found some other, new guy,
While I sit here at night, writing line after line
Of sad poetry and lyrical lies.
I’m sure he’s taller, of course, she likes that a lot,
She always wanted love taller than 5’9”.
It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
While I’m sitting alone at home,
Cooking dinner for one over an open stove.
Writing these god awful, sad sappy poems
That no one will ever even read.
It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
All the while I’m sitting at home
Slowly burning inside.
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