I keep writing letters to you...
just look at what I have turned into:
homesick for a little normality
concerned for our dreams instead of reality...

And I suppose there's such a thing
as wishing life were easy,
but I don't think they'll wait up for me -
will you?

Will you finally be a constant?
will you humour me
when I want to write in a British accent -
sit around and melt some tea?
Will you tell me who you are
and let me do the same?
can I be an oxymoron?
can our friendship remain?

It's a better question -
where's my answer?

Scritch-scratch writing on the big blue squares -
I'll hold your hand despite the stares,
and if you want to let go, let go.
I won't try to put on a show...

Here and there we meet again -
not quite lovers, not quite friends -
don't you hate that cliché?
I'll save it for another day.

Somewhere I've got a song of you,
and someday I hope it will come true,
but before I let this turn blue, blue...
tell me

Will you finally be my constant?
Will you humour me
when I want to write in a British accent
sit around and just leave me?
Will you tell me who you are
and let me do the same?
Can I be an oxymoron?
Can our friendship remain?

You might have did what you did to satisfy
or let me know you're there
you might have planned it all to bring out my
ability to be fair, fair, fair

And you know how I
have found a good guy
and felt stabbed in the back

so now you know what not to do
I've got another question for you

Will you finally be my constant?
Will you hold me up
when I'm tipping and I need a helping hand
to stay above?
Will you cry when you are sad
and let me do the same?
Can we be when they say no
and can our friendship remain?

That's my question.
it's a better question...
where's my answer?