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.