I've landed on the street again.
What's the point in going on?
I've never been much good at this
but I may as well move on.
Dishes crashing on the wall
as I run out the door.
I hear you screaming loud and clear:
you can't take any more.
So I'm on the corner in the cold
as night is closing in.
I'm thinking of what times we had.
I wish they'd come again.
It's over now, so why look back?
But still, I want to cry...
Someday I might get it right
and she won't say goodbye.