LYRIC

Can't say that I regret much of anything
But if I regretted not breaking your heart
Well what kind of man would that have made me?
Well, to start, it would have made me yours

Well I guess this is the man I've become
Writing songs on a Sunday with no one
Parking lots and street lights
Your baby's not coming home tonight

Write you a letter, baby
Don't leave out any insults
'cause I'll be on top
In my head we're doing fine
Yeah, in my mind, yeah, you're loving me all the time
Well I guess this is the man I've become
Writing songs on a Sunday with no one
Having you been my only regret
I suppose I can live with that

We're doing fine

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