It seems like another Friday night, but not for him.
He’s gonna make everything seem alright, for him.
I don’t have a plan that seems to work.
Nothing I do really makes her turn and look.

“Come and meet me later,” she says.
By then she’s already gone.
“Let’s talk about this now,” he says.
He’s always so impatient.

And she really thinks it’s done,
That they’ll never talk again.
But Saturday morning, he says,
“What the hell am I to do?
I never wanted you.”
And she holds it in forever.

Thursday morning, she gives him a call.
She hangs up and decides to ring his door.
She stays for five minutes and then she leaves.
She’s really angry but then she hears him a call,

“I never meant those things I said last week.
I’m overcome with guilt.”
“I’m sorry that you feel that way,” she says.
“I just came by to drop off your stuff.”

And he really thinks it’s done,
That they’ll never talk again.
But Saturday morning, she says,
“What the hell am I to do?
I always wanted you.”
And she writes it in a letter.

“I always felt the same for you,” he says.
“But I’ll have to overcome all my insecurities of you.
I hope that we’ll still be strong.”

“It will work,” she says.
We will work it out.
If we try, we will work it out.
If we try.

And they really think it’s done,
That they’ll never fight again.
But an August morning, he says,
“What the hell am I to do?
I found a substitute for you.”
And she leaves forever.

She leaves forever.