Lyrics
They talked about the game, laughed from lack of shame, they called it off. He was a poet with a knack for prose, she was a thief with a taste for clothes. They worked it out. She reminded him of home, a place he left alone to ease the pain. He reminded her of school, she knew he'd play the fool with a fuck on the side. Just when the story begins to get old, the plot begins to pick it up. Just when the story begins to get old, the plot begins to pick it up. He traveled around the world, postcards and pints from distant girls, the motherly kind. Just like a dreamer without a dream, just like a schemer without a scheme, he felt empty inside. She got married and settled down, found a job to pass the time, the 9-5. Just like a dreamer without a dream, just a schemer without a scheme, she felt empty inside. Just when the story begins to get old, the plot begins to pick it up. Just when the story begins to get old, the plot begins to pick it up. They'll remain like a picture to a frame and love will find a time, she won't stop, he won't stop.
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