It's been nice you say
And in a way it still is
But how can you say that
When you are slamming, slamming that door though you promised yourself you'd be merciful.
Merciful to me, to me and my insides staining my mothers good carpet with my petty affections
It's been good I think
It still is
And I'm saying that
I'm saying while I'm watching you not breathe a word to me anymore and I'm forced to wonder like a fool
If, if I've upset you
Upset you so greatly by loving you this way
In my way
And you say, you say to everyone, that it was for the best
And that it still is
But how
How can you say that when I'm all you ever talk about?
It's not conceit just my own guilt.
But how can you say that when the best leaves you all alone?
It's not spite just my own dissatisfaction
Dissatisfaction for what you've left me for
And you wonder how I can say that?
How can I say that?
How can I say that?
That it was nice.
It still is.