why don t we stop fooling ourselves the game is over over over no good times no bad times there s no times at all just the new york times sitting on 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 laughs left cause we laughed them all and we laughed them all in a very short time time is tapping on my forehead hanging from my mirror rattling the teacups and i wonder how long can i delay we re just a habit like saccharin and i m habitually feelin kinda blue but each time i try on the thought of leaving you i stop i stop and think it over