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by Frank Turner
I check that I´ve got all my things before I leave the house,
Because when I´m gone I´m never coming back.
I´m not being melodramatic, it´s just I neither have your number or a key.
An evening spent pretending that we´re just becoming friends,
Or this goes any further than going back;
I´m not being pessimistic, it´s just you and I were never meant to be.
It isn´t love, but every time I kind of wish it was.
I´ve picked up this silly habit in the last few years of going out
In the evening with my friends into the town,
Of packing a spare T-shirt in my bag in case I do not make it home.
It´s pathetic and I know it, but the truth is there´ve been mornings
I´ve proved prudent taking toothpaste to the pub.
But that´s precious little comfort against the knowledge of the person I´ve become.
It isn´t love, but every time I kind of wish it was,
And I can see that in your eyes you wish it was,
But every time I leave you just because
It isn´t love.