Overs

Why don't we stop fooling ourselves

The game is over over over

No good times no bad times

There's no times at all

Just The New York Times

Sitting on the windowsill

Near the flowers

We might as well be apart

It hardly matters

We sleep separately

And drop a smile passing in the hall

But there's no laughs left

'Cause we laughed them all

And we laughed them all

In a very short time

Time

Is tapping on my forehead

Hanging from my mirror

Rattling the teacups

And I wonder

How long can I delay

We're just a habit

Like Saccharin

And I'm habitually feelin' kinda blue

But each time I try on

The thought of leaving you

I stop

I stop and think it over