In the hospital I formulated a picture perfect way To predict when I got out What I thought I’d be strong enough to say But I can’t tell you I don’t know why I can’t tell you My throat goes dry So I’ll call my friends for beers And try to drink away the years Of believing what you wrote in my yearbook There’s no changing the direction those years took now And we’ll play our favorite songs And we’ll have to sing a long To pretend that we’re reliving the old days I’ll pretend that you aren’t stuck in your old ways now It must take a mastermind or some kind of genius To figure out the reasons Behind all of this And why I’m not over it. I’m still not over it and that’s pretty plain to see.