I'm having trouble, stringing my lines together.
Not feeling very clever, my knife is dull.
We were telling lies, but your lies were smelling sweeter.
I was a broken heater in the fall.

If you call tonight, I might not answer out of spite,
For our design and disaster seem to write, 
Far better than us both.

We set up traps, to catch each other in.
But nobody wins if we both lost.
We hang out by windows, and cry in our pillows.
Why did love kill us after all?

And if you call tonight, I might not answer out of spite.
For our design and disaster seems to write,
Far better than us both.

And it's sad, that strangers often end up in love,
And then in exile.

I stumble home to bed, all by myself,
With an old lover in my head.

But if you call tonight, I might just answer out of spite.
For our design and disaster seem to write,
Far better than us both.