When your sweetheart sends you a letter,
And breaks your heart.
Crying will make it better
As the song says.
But it's the questions that kill us.
First on the list would be, why me?
Why do I deserve this?
Why didn't I see?
The hints were there.
This is sooooo unfair.
What does, "I don't know how I feel" really mean?
Are you running away from love,
Or toward a new scene?
Oh well, crying will make it better.
But it's the questions that kill us.
Why didn't I question intension's?
Did I accept pantomime gestures?
Why did I have no comprehension?
Crying will make it better.
But it's the questions that kill us.
And as I cry I still think,
What will I do without them?
What may I do when they shrink,
And ask to return?
It's the questions that kill us.
Is it me or the world?
Am I that dumb?
I see my heart unfurled,
And tattered in the wind.
It's the questions that kill us.
Will I have learned a truth,
If there is but one to learn?
Is this the price we pay for youth?
A broken heart may be a very high price,
And still it's the questions that kill us.
