linger.

you look good in the spring, and you're such the perfect husband.
holding her hand and kissing her lovely cheek in the breeze.
but you're having trouble, you see, or maybe you don't.
button up your coat, dear, there's a slight chill.

you look good in the reflection of that glass of wine.
pretty for an old man, pretty for a young man; you never looked your age.
smiling with soft red lips, telling of all your battle scars.
none quite as impressed as i was, two springs ago.

you look so good on her arm, such an odd little man.
but you're beautiful, you're cocky, you're absolutely grand.
you can let this one go, you can stop trying, you won long ago.
you kept your prize, on a shelf with all the others, not quite as shiny.

you look so good as you fade away, little by little.
but you never really were the type to stay.
just the type to mold, to fix, to stretch things as you want them.
you lingered just long enough to break my heart.

and i said i'd never tell you that.
just go on, walk away.
i won't be okay if you do.
but i said i'd never tell you that.