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