(I’ll never get over you)
You broke my heart over a bucket
of southern fried chicken. You stood up, said, ‘Fuck it,’
and walked out for good, like I knew I should,
but I’d always stuck it to see if you would.
We were so young, but I thought we’d make it.
When life dragged us down, I thought we could take it.
But the distance it grew between me and you,
and though I tried to fake it I knew we were through.
So I let you go,
but I didn’t let you know
that I think I’ll never get over you.
You stole my heart when I first heard you singing
and playing your guitar. Your words were ringing
out over the bar. You were a star,
right from the beginning. I knew you’d go far.
Wherever you went, I thought I could follow —
for each yesterday another tomorrow.
But I didn’t see, there’d be no place for me.
You just had to be free.
So I let you go.
I guess I should’ve let you know
that I think I’ll never get over you.
Ten years ago you walked out that door
and I made a mistake, didn’t beg you to stay.
Ten years alone since I let you go,
and I wish I’d been brave, but I’m ten years too late to say
I’ll never get over you.
No, I know I’ll never get over you.
Oh, I’ll never get over you.
