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Why must i miss her blonde hair?
all the nights she was right there,
massaging out knots, turning away from stares,
kissing her lips and losing all fear,

why must a good thing always be ruined?
why would a rich register be more a shoe in?
do girls even care about what they're doin?
or only care about who they're screwin?

in my mind she was once one in a million,
wake up next to her under my ceilin,
in the beginning when i knew her feelings,
whatever we did i felt was brilliant,

now the only one of a kind you compare
with are the ones that stand over there,
way in the back, with the ones i show,
that when i see them i pretend to not know.