[Verse 1]
Too late
He knows you're all back-to-front
Your bottom lip shaking
Your happiness quakes as it's torn apart

Sunday late
When you go and get your stuff
"What's yours is mine"
That unpractical line back to bite your arm

[Pre-Chorus 1]
No, don't leave him anything
No letters on the side
You've gone over everything
Screw-ups and the whys
Erase him, his memory
A tortured decline
Was never your style

[Chorus]
And it's wild dreams of the start
At the finish line
Gum peeling apart
From each other's lives