Why don't we stop foolin' ourselves
The game is over, over, over
No good times, no bad times
There's no times at all
Just the New York Times
Sittin' by the window sill
Near the flowers
We might as well be aaprt
It hardly matters
We sleep sep'rately
And drop a smile
Passin' in the hall
But there's no laughs left
'Cause we laughed them all
In a very short time
Time is tapping on my forehead
Hanging from my mirror
Rattling the teacups
And I wonder how long
Can I delay
We're just a habit like saccharine
And I'm habitually feelin' kinda blue
But each time I try on the thought of leavin' you
I stop...
I stop and think it over
Writer(s): Paul Simon
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