producin' a seducin' scheme.
if you could see how he treats me,
how his boldness beats me down,
it's some poor soul's unfortunate dream
(but none of mine).
you can't make substance out of air:
(it's obvious when there's nothing there).
you can't make substance out of air
and he can't take back his words.
baby's gone home.
he's grey when he's alone --
i throw away all i've heard.
it is a feeling so absurd
(to feel as if you're never heard).
and then i'd be so much less inspired
after the fight, the fake-out and the fall.
i suggest to his heart
as my own stops with a start --
what if i mean nothing at all?
to mean nothing in the world at all
to the one person in the world who means something --
(what, if i gave to the game,
would i expect your heart to deliver?).
baby's on the phone again
and i'm all out of sense.
this makes me want to know
if i should stay or i should go
repaint the white picket fence.
a dream's redesign,
once yours, now only