I could tell you again that I always want you,
but I know you’ll never change.
And I could tell you that I always want you to be mine.
But I know you’ll never change your mind.
I lay open before you, contents up and cover down,
but you move to turn the page.
I am bound by my love to say the words that I must say.
But I know you’ll never change your mind.
No, I know you’ll never change your mind.
And steadily I find myself
growing more and more uncomfortable
with memories of “I love you” and “always you’ll be mine.”
If I tell you again that I’ll always want you
would you begin to feel the pain
that I’m afraid to realize
is more than “yours” and more than “mine”?
do the others ever change their minds?
And steadily I find myself growing
more and more uncomfortable with
memories of “I love you” and “always you’ll be mine.”
So now unfolds before me the trail of tears, the path of lies
that I have worked hard to disguise.
Somewhere far down that road, when I am older, I am wise,
I will write the “great American novel.”
