It's been 18 months since I kissed you once, so just saying "hi" just isn't going to fly,
|
But if you give me a clue and a minute or two then I might remember your name.
|
And I hate to insist that I was really that pissed, but to tell the truth, in my flush of youth,
|
I would drown my sight until faces and nights seemed the same.
|
A nervous shrug and an awkward hug won't get me out of the hole that I've dug,
|
So I slip the noose with a poor excuse and talk to someone, anyone else.
|
I sit with my friends and I try to pretend that I never did that sort of thing again
|
But I'm lying to myself.
|
|
And suddenly it's as clear as clear could be: I'm not quite the perfect man that I hoped I'd be.
|
And though I alwasy tried to live an honest life, to tell the truth I've told my share of lies.
|
|
I remember you, of course I do, but I don't recall how many times we've been though
|
Our little game, that always ends the same, with you sad and me far away.
|
And every time I repeat the line that the fault's not mine and I wasn't unkind,
|
But the worst part is that I've got nothing else to say.
|
|
All the pretty little pictures of faith and firm devotion that I painted as a child;
|
They have fallen by the wayside, along with all my puppy-fat,
|
But my days have taught me this:
|
That every day I spend pretending that I always choose the right path
|
Is a day that I choose the wrong.
|
|
My wisdom teeth have been giving me grief;
|
They woke me up to find that I'm exactly the kind
|
Of guy I said that I'd rather be dead
|
Than be in the days before I got laid.
|
|
-----------------
|
Wisdom Teeth
|
| Frank Turner |
