All this distance really hurts
Conversion scale just does not work
Metric tons, two minus one
Bottle caps in a pocket change tray
The weight is constant and heavy
Centimeters, inches, feet - they just can't compete
With all the while and all the miles
Twenty three thirty two Fulton St.
It's the haps you had a plane to catch
The wait is pulling teeth and steady
The wait is anything but easy
Perhaps the stories always end with me
Bottle caps in a pocket change tray
I think I get it, I think I understand
The way we planned, it didn't make sense
But then again, I'm probably wrong for you my dear
See her in the magazine
How's everything on her scene
Read her in the Interview
It wasn't half bad she said
It's late now I'm in bed and tired
Not quite drunk enough, forced to think for a while
Of why I never wrote or called
Or why I never did anything at all
Lie here in my bed alone
Try and block out the drone
Of that salad dressing month we had
She was right, it wasn't half bad
And somehow it just might make sense
I think I get it, I think I understand
Still I wonder I'll
I wonder
What if
What might have been

Writer : WEINBERG, MARK / WRITERS, UNKNOWN
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing