I'm starting to accept
I will never write the perfect love song
love is just a mess
and it's much too hard to hum along
I've nothing left to say
not one more trite sentiment
no insight, just regret
and one more sad cliche
I'm starting to accept
I'll never write the perfect love song
there's been too many attempts
and it's been far too long
I fear our love is dead
as we lie together deathly still
humming sad songs and feeling ill
on our segregated bed
Now I'm straining hard to see
anything left for me and you
no more catchy tunes
And bitterness that's given way to apathy
