He said he loved me
but he never showed it.
He said he missed me
but I hardly ever saw him.
He said he said he said,
too many words.
I lost all my bets.
Was it all just lies?
I guess I'm not the type that you like;
I'm too silly,
too innocent,
too much of a dreamer.
You like your women
filthy,
experienced,
disposable *** dealers.
He has a machine heart I couldn't cut through.
Day through day, sad and lost, I made myself believe I could be his muse.
I like the idea that he had good intentions,
he just couldn't take responsibilities, too much tension.
And I wonder
if there was truly any feeling there.
And I wonder
how could someone change
the way they always were.