I remember when we realized,

Our favourite song was the same,

I felt like you'd looked at me,

And seen straight into my brain,

You'd stroke my face while singing,

As I drifted off to sleep,

And I swore that those fond memories,

Were the kind I'd always keep,

But even good songs finish,

And as the winter's silence grew,

My cheeks went from a rosy pink,

To a mottled black and blue,

So I grabbed the person I'd become,

And fled into the night,

You told me that I'd come back,

And you still think you'll be right,

But let me tell you something:

Our song was on the radio,

But its been so long since I've heard it,

I've forgotten how it goes,

And I've learnt it takes just seven years,

For all your cells to be replaced,

So one day you will have never touched,

The skin upon my face.