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Will someone please call a surgeon
Who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart
That you’re deserting for better company?
I can’t accept that it’s over…
And I will block the door like a goalie tending the net
In the third quarter of a tied-game rivalry.
So just say how to make it right,
And I swear I’ll do my best to comply.
Tell me am I right to think that there could be nothing better
Than making you my bride and slowly growing old together?
I feel must I interject here you’re getting carried away,
Feeling sorry for yourself,
With these revisions and gaps in history.
So let me help you remember.
I’ve made charts and graphs that should finally make it clear.
I’ve prepared a lecture on why I have to leave.
So please back away and let me go.
I can’t my darling I love you so…
But oh, oh…
Tell me am I right to think that there could be nothing better
Than making you my bride and slowly growing old together?
Don’t you feed me lines about some idealistic future.
You know we won’t heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures.
I know that I have made mistakes and I swear
I’ll never wrong you again.
You’ve got allure I can’t deny,
But you’ve had your chance so say goodbye,
Say goodbye.
– The Postal Service, Nothing Better