And you love her. But she'll say, "it's never as good as it gets." And you'll cry to yourself while you toss in lonely bets, three on she stays - seven on she goes. And you'll get good at walking on your toes, sneaking past trap after trap. And your fingers will become nimble defusing hormonal bomb after hormonal bomb. But the traps got bigger and the bombs got trickier and she found someone better at sneaking and at defusing. And you'll cry to yourself while you toss clothes in that lonely yellow suitcase, and again when you slowly shut that heavy yellow door.? And the tears will be streaming as your face hits the winter cold. And when your big hand with those nimble fingers reaches that door to your lonely yellow car, you'll begin to sob when you look back up into those angry windows that shade your girl with her man. And you'll think of me then. Of how hard you made for me to love you. Of the traps and the bombs. And of the very same yellow suitcase in your big hand with nimble fingers. The very suitcase that took my man and made you her guy. And she'll be watching you from the window, watching you stare down at your yellow suitcase. And she'll be taking a drag on that cigarette after spitting spite between the window panes. And then you'll open that heavy yellow car door, toss in that yellow suitcase and fall inside. And you'll cry with your head in your hands and wonder for a second where you'll go and hope that it's not too late. Because it'll be my yellow house that you're running to. It'll be my arms that you're hoping are open. And you'll be wishing that I'm the only one sleeping in that big bed you bought for two. That I'm the only one inside that big room painted a pale yellow. That only my clothes fill the closet. That only my hands play fetch with the dog you surprised me with on my birthday. And you'll come back, and you'll beg to stay. But that yellow house is empty. There is no dog in the yard, and no car in the drive. 'Cause I loved you and you said, "it's never as good as it gets."