The record isn't broken, but still this song plays over and over again. This voice of his, all sandpaper-y and like vinegar calls out from my speakers, and my heart wrenches tonight as I toy with whether or not we truly change, or do we just play it cold and never change. And so, I provide you with a lyrical quost, if you will:
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How many times have I come to you How many times have you taken me in How have you never quite realized That this will be nothing more than what it's been
Why is it that I return to the scene of the crime Though there's nothing I need Between the moments that linger before us Haven't you wondered why I always leave
Let me Be who I am Let me Leave while I can
You know love don't find This sort of man So just let me leave While I can
How many times have I come to you Beaten and broken and under attack How can you look in my eyes and my heart And not see that there's something I lack
Why is it that I'm as bad as I am But I know that you'll never believe Why do you still have to love me When all I have done is to lie and deceive
Let me Be who I am Let me Leave while I can
You know love don't find This sort of man So just let me leave While I
Can't give you what you need And I'm so tired that I can't breathe And I don't know if you can see, But my ship is goin' down
And I tried my best to be a man So I set you free while I still can Cause I can't seem to change who I am
So just let me Be who I am Oh, oh, let me Leave while I can
You know love don't find This sort of man So just let me Leave while I can
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So I've not been lying or deceiving, but there are times when my bluff gets called, and clutching my cards to my chest I find that my face will always betray me and I will flee - by way of joke, story, laughter, somehow I'll bail out.
I'd rather say that my face will never fail me, because in spite of myself I hide so much that I'd rather not, but then I feel like I'd be one big open wound exposed. Sure, these things need air in order to heal, but it's also important to be cautious as one can't be riskin' infection. If love were the Band-aid, do you think it comes in my color?
(Can you sense how tired I am, like mentally? Where are all these crazy ass analogies coming from, nervous loti?!)
I have these walls around me that I've built, and I think I'm right at that point where either I have to stop or else I'm dangerously close to closing myself in ... and that is not good, so I flutter between letting people in and keeping people out. Headlocks and stiffarms, come close but get away.
This is how I really feel though: And I wanna fly and never come down/And live my life and have friends around ...