Called her last night And I read her a line, from her favorite book of poetry And I started to cry When she asked me what was wrong, I said, "Don't worry, it's not you, it's me" It's fine to say That everything you've done to me has been excused by you Now I know that's its plain to see Every line I read to you is coming from deep inside of me
She called me last night And read me a line from her favorite book of poetry And she started to cry When I asked her what was wrong, she said, "Don't worry, it's not you, it's me" It's plain to see All these stories told to me are false And I know Oh She's telling me lies, telling me lies like hte sun is blue sooner or later its come to pass one of these poems will have to last Sooner or later, she's gonna have to come to pass This poetry
I called her last night And we finally talked for what seemed like the very first time So I start to cry Seem like we don't know each other no more, and these words they Describe you to a T Telling you about me It's writen verse by verse, line by line, just you and me and I just wish I could describe with my pen one day done throughout the time In these books of poetry It seems like its all written just about, written just about her and me All this love poetry, good and bad Written just about you and me