Blame it on the wine,
on you being high,
on the flame and fire we let burn a little too wild.
Blame it on my heart,
on love from the start,
on the eternal thread—ever rising, never dead—
still binding us to each other.
Blame it on the months,
on the lonely ache for touch,
on the injustice of this love,
the tightrope we somehow still grip.
But don’t you dare blame your heart.
Don’t you dare let your light fall apart.
Don’t trade your crown for the hunger
in a stranger’s eyes—
just to feel alive,
just to make me realize
how much I have lost.
I Blame it on the pain,
on the way you say my name,
on the cuts I carry deep,
on last night’s restless sleep—
because your heart… I still keep
always, ever close.
Blame it on your heart,
on a true and trembling start,
on the hard road still ahead,
on all the words we’ve left unsaid,
on those boys who need you whole.
Blame it on last night,
on the need to start a fight,
on your anger with me—
I’ll blame it on the wisdom I tried to bring,
on the echo of the song we still sing,
on the fact you know me
better than anyone ever will.
Blame it on the text,
on the translation lost in the mess,
on the light I still see—
in you,
and in me.
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