It's not quite cold enough to numb the pain,
just enough to make me wish I were back in bed again.
I'm not just touching the sky, I'm kissing it,
but somewhere there's a point to all this and I'm missing it.
Yes, I still love you, and I miss you, believe me,
but I still can't decide if I'd cry if you leave me.
You let your hair grow out, you're lookin' like Nick Drake,
and who we are keeps changing like the Swan in Swan Lake.
I'm sitting with my legs dangling over the Seine,
I kinda wanna go back, do it all over again.
I've seen the whole world, almost seen it twice,
and settling down has started to sound kind of nice.
The good days aren't over, but you can't make 'em last--
So ends this letter from my Present Future to my Future Past.
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