'Til I Get Over You

Every time I feel alone
I can blame it on you
And I do
Oh you got me like a loaded gun, golden sun and sky's so blue
Oh We both know
That we want it
But we both know
You left me no choice
(Chaque fois que tu ton va)
You just bring me down
(Je pretend que tu fais bien)
So I'm counting my tears
'Til I get over you

Sometimes I watch the world go by
I wonder what it is like
Oh
To wake up every single day
Smile on your face
You never tried
We both know
We can't change it
But we both know
We'll just have to face it
(Chaque fois que tu ton va)
You just bring me down
(Je pretend que tu fais bien)
So I'm counting my tears
'Til I get over you

If only I could give you up
Would I want to let you off of this soapbox lately?
We both know that we want it
But we both know
You left me no choice
(Chaque fois que tu ton va)
You just bring me down
(Je pretend que tu fais bien)
Oh so I'm counting my tears
'Til I get over you....
(Chaque fois que tu ton va)
(Je pretend que to fais bien)
We both knowI am not over you

[Chaque fois que tu ton va - Everytime You Walk Away
Je pretend que tu fais bien - I Pretend That I'm Ok]

©Michelle Branch, Hotel Paper ~Track 12, 'Til I Get Over You ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-VcrpB5NTQ

I'm never a weapon person but I relate to guns and pistols and revolvers and the likes in my own way. When a gun's fully loaded and just ready for some blood, you feel so completed and invincible. The moment you let out a bullet and the deafening sound and the gunpower and repercussions and everything fall into nothingness in the background, you lose a hint of that completeness and it's quickly replaced by vulnerability and doubts. And it spelled a no turning back. You are left completely on your own to decide whether or not you fire the next one, or keep it. I used to have nightmares in my head about a fired pistol. The very sounds it made, its very destination it stopped, life all slipped out, blood all over, and then silence. I would have goosebumps lining the span of my body and in my heart, it's like something's torn and shredded apart. And I will close my eyes shut so tight I feel like screaming my head off. I don't know why I'm writing this but I think I have just compared the raptured relationships that made up a good part of my life to a fired pistol.

One tiny metal...the end of a world