The Heart Remains a Child

I dreamed about you again last night.
You never have the same face twice,
But I always know it's you,
And you're always looking better than you really do.

Than you really do.
And I walk around the whole next day
Feeling like I've still got something to say.
But I don't know what it is,

And I don't know how to reach you even if I did.
Even if I did.
Do I want to hear that you forgive me?
Do I want to hear you're no good without me?

Am I big enough to hear that you never even think about me?
Why should you ever think about me?
And I thought that I'd outgrow this kind of thing.
Tell me, aren't we supposed to mature or something?

I haven't found that yet, is this as grown-up as we ever get?
Maybe this is as good as it gets.
And years may go by, but I think the heart remains a child.
The mind may grow wise, but the heart just sulks and it whines and remains a child.

I think the heart remains a child.
Why don't you love me?
Why don't you love me?
Why don't you love me?