Everything But The Girl

I dreamed about you again last night. You never have the same face
twice, but I always know it's you, and you're always looking better than
you really do. Than you really do. And I walk around the whole next day
feeling like I've still got something to say. But I don't know what it
is, and I don't know how to reach you even if I did. Even if I did. Do
I wanna hear that you forgive me? Do I wanna hear you're no good without
me? Am I big enough to hear that you never even even think about me?
Why should you ever think about me? And I thought that I'd outgrow this