Paris

He's waiting at the door
Begging for you to let him in
And the rain begins to fall

Shirt sticking to his skin
If only I knew you were in Paris for the weekend
I never would've been her fucking little lapdog
There's more to it all
Then pounding your head against a wall
And the relief when you cease
The breaking of the fall
This ain't about me so make no mistake
We bear the cross of decisions we make
I'll take it all back
Hell I'll make it my way
I'm just the product of choices I've made