Oh, you had littered your clothes across the floor where we last met.
Like a trail of things we never said- but what have we ever said?
Still, it was 1998, and we had plenty of time to reconcile.
But I was more concerned with what came next then I was of forgiving you.
But you had not forgiven me, and you would not allow
Your teenage heart time to mend or time away.
Oh, what an ugly sight it was to see!
So you told them all about me- and all the things I hadn't done.
And the little white lies that birthed from your mouth turned into such an avalanche.
Then your voice became so small, or everyone else's grew large.
But it was far too late to pull the words back. They were gone.
So no one will hear you scream, "No one will love you like I do..."