Another dull day, the smell of cigarettes and disinfectant.
The Parisian lovers we once were have woken up hungover in Texas.
And I hate to say it, I hate to break it to you,
but we’re on the way out, this love is down for the count.
And it feels like that overrated Bill Murray movie,
it feels like you’ve already left me.
Another silence, another night devoid of any notion of romance.
The cold distance between us is almost enough to save the melting ice caps.
And I hate to say it, I hate to break it to you,
but the American Congress has got a better shot at making meaningful progress.
And it feels like that overrated Bill Murray movie,
it feels like you’ve already left me.
Another argument, the sound of breaking china and a front door slammed.
A final moment of tension is overcome with everything that’s gone left unmentioned.
And I hate to say it, I hate to break it to you,
but you’re not so perfect and you’ve definitely never been much of a lover.
And it feels like every single Richard Curtis movie,
there’s an old school soul track playing for me.
And it feels like something starring Hugh Grant,
because it feels like I’m finally free.
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