Why don't we stop fooling ourselves
The game is over, over, over
No good times, no bad times
There's no times at all, just the New York Times

Sitting in the windowsill
Near the flowers
We might as well be apart
It hardly matters, we sleep separately

And drop a smile passing in the hall
But there's no laughts left
'Cause we laughted them all
And we laughted them all in a very short time

Time is tapping on my forehead
Hanging from my mirror
Rattling the teacups
And I wonder how long can I delay

We've just a habit, like saccharine
And I'm habitually feelin' kind of blue
But each time I try on the thought of leaving you
I stop
Stop and think it over.