Words arid, syllabic potpourri Loving you doesn't make sense to me We're getting old and you know I've moved on Why should we act as though nothing is wrong My love is in your letters My home is in my songs And I've been living here too long Keeping in mind what I know we've been through Darling don't think this reflects upon you I'm getting sore by the fit of this shoe Leaving is something I just have to do My love is in your letters My home is in my songs And I've been living here too long Heart arid, aortic potpourri Darling these ghost months mean nothing to me