Overs (Live)

Why don't we stop fooling ourselves The game is over over over No good times no bad times No times at all just the New York Times Sitting in the windowsill Near the flowers We might as well be apart It hardly matters we sleep separately And drop a smile passing in the hall But there's no laughts left 'cause we laughted them all And we laughted them all in a very short time Time is tapping on my forehead Handing from my mirror Rattling the teacups And I wonder how long can I delay We've just a habit like saccharine And I'm habitually feelin' kind of blue But each time I try on the thought of leaving you I stop I stop and think it over