Judging by your pauses on the phone,
what's left unsaid is better left unknown.
Maybe we'd be better off alone.
The way we used to feel, it only comes and goes.
It comes and goes.
In the middle of the night I'm pleading.
And I know that you're not really sleeping.
By the half-light of the dawn I'm seething,
counting every minute until you're leaving.
You come and go.
At least we used to care enough to shout.
Now we'd rather have our peace than have it out.
Uncertainty's been swallowed up by doubt.
I guess this is what my folks were always sighing about
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