You said: Don't go changing I'll rearrange to let you in And I'll be your historian And you'll be mine And I'll fill pages of scribbled ink Hoping the words carry meaning
Then one day, the motorcade Covered in flower wreaths First in a big parade Will come to take one of us away Leaving the other with plenty to read This is what I want to talk about But somehow the words will not leave my mouth Was I most complete at the beginning? Or the bow? If past you were to meet future me Would you be holding me here and now?
