Sixpence None The Richer. The Fatherless And The Widow. An Apology. Zeneszám

Questions flew
and words were hurled into the air
and when the smoke had cleared
I saw you lying there
I used my words like bullets in a gun
to pick your ego off like skeet flung
in the gallery of fools

too many words come from my mouth
I wish would remain unsaid
oh I've had to eat them all and now I must confess

it was a silly thing to say to you
it was a silly thing to say to you I know

we know