For the misery I fought until I bled,
Then you finally turned your back,
For the time I had was hanging by a thread,
When it fell between the cracks,
For the look you gave me turning off the lights,
Now on bedtime we would dwell,
For the touch of your hand on my cheek at night,
Then your presence was unfelt.

Maybe I’m wrong, Maybe I’m right,
I’m coming around the fact that it was all an act,
To that I raise my glass.

For an instant of that passion I would call,
But the phone is staying off,
For the lovely words that used to make me fall,
Now the dryness of your cough,
For the misery I fought until I bled,
But the scars will never heal,
For the time I had was hanging by a thread,
But the tension felt unreal.

Maybe I’m wrong, Maybe I’m right,
I’m coming around the fact that it was all an act,
To that I raise my glass.

Maybe I’m wrong, Maybe I’m right,
I’m coming around the fact that it was all an act,
To that I raise my glass.

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