It's that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore
And who would've thought the books that you brought
Were all I loved you for
Oh the devil in me said go down to the shed
I know where I belong
But the only thing I ever really wanted to say
Was wrong, was wrong, was wrong
It's that little souvenir of a colorful year
Which makes me smile inside
So I cynically, cynically say the world is that way
Surpise, surpise, surpise, surpise surpise
Here's where the story ends
Oh here's where the story ends
- The Sundays, "Here's Where the Story Ends"
Nevermind. You wouldn't understand.