Lyric Overs

Why don t we stop fooling ourselves?
The game is over, over, over

No good times, no bad times
There s no times at all
Just The New York Times
Sitting on the windowsill
Near the flowers

We might as well be apart
It hardly matters
We sleep separately
And drop a smile passing in the hall
But there s no laughs left
Cause we laughed them all
And we laughed them all
In a very short time

Time
Is tapping on my forehead
Hanging from my mirror
Rattling the teacups
And I wonder
How long can I delay?
We re just a habit
Like Saccharin

And I m habitually feelin kinda blue

But each time I try on
The thought of leaving you
I stop
I stop and think it over