Frank Turner

It’s been eighteen months since I kissed you once,
So just saying “hi” just isn’t going to fly,
But if you give me a clue and a minute or two,
Then I might remember your name.
And I hate to insist that I was really that pissed,
But to tell the truth, in my flush of youth,
I would drown my sight until faces and nights seemed the same.
And a nervous shrug and an awkward hug
Won’t get me out of the hole that I’ve dug,
So I slip the noose with a poor excuse
And talk to someone, anyone else.
And I sit with my friends and I try to pretend
That I never did that sort of thing again,
But I’m lying to myself.
And suddenly it’s as clear as clear could be:
I’m not quite the perfect man that I hoped I’d be.
And though I always tried to live an honest life,
To tell my truth I’ve told my share of lies.