Оригинальный текст
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I'm on the phone while I'm driving
Take my hand off of these wheels
To keep my legs from shaking
Moving to the crashing of cymbals
Growing into themes, near to mesmerize
But never right on time
You say that you mean it this time more?
Last time turned to nothing, this I'm sure
But I've been wrong before
And how this feels, and how Liz sings
I won't decorate my love
Has got me thinking
It's got me dreaming
Of imaginary times, on an imaginary couch
Listening to imaginary records, and with imaginary mouths
Saying: Boy, this is it, this must be it
Please, can't this be it?
