Text: Johnny Foreigner. Robert Scargill Takes the Prize.

Should I cue the violins?
Yr last brief hope for the night
He stands, he sighs, pulls his coat from the rack, and what silence brings back.

How you almost forgave him, like only angels should.
How you almost forgave him,
But if yr meant to be apart, dont start.

Come the end of the summer, you came to his house,
You mostly stared in the mirror and laughed a little too loud,
Took half a bottle to get the words out, but no one here?s too proud.

And you almost forgave him like only angels should.
How you almost forgave him,
But if yr trying to stay apart, don?t start.

But if all you ever get is each other.

How you almost forgave him like only angels should.
How you almost forgave him,
But if yr trying to stay apart, don?t start.