Overheard during family therapy — rather classic, actually… [Intro — low, close, cold] They came to talk about the marriage. So naturally, they talked about everything except love. [Verse 1] She said: “You never listen.” He said: “You never stop.” She mentioned his mother. He mentioned the kitchen mop. There was money on the table. There was Tuesday. There was blame. There were seventeen different versions of who first lit the flame. I sat between them with my notebook and a rather professional face, while two intelligent people tore each other into place. [Pre-Chorus] Every fact had representation. Every wound had learned to speak. But the thing that brought them here once had not been mentioned for a week. Or a year. Or perhaps much longer. [Chorus — hard, furious] You forgot about love. That inconvenient thing. Before the bills, before the verdicts, before the wedding ring. You forgot about love. While proving who was right. You won another argument and lost another night. You remembered every insult. Every debt. Every shove. You remembered everything. Everything except love. [Verse 2] He said: “She always does this.” She said: “He always lies.” And suddenly two human beings became statistics in disguise. Always. Never. Every time. The holy words of war. Useful little absolutes for locking every door. I asked: “When did you last look at each other without preparing a defence?” The room became extremely interested in silence and expense. [Pre-Chorus] There are questions that need answers. There are injuries that matter. But some couples build a courtroom and then wonder why love doesn’t enter. [Chorus — louder] You forgot about love. That inconvenient thing. Before the bills, before the verdicts, before the wedding ring. You forgot about love. While proving who was right. You won another argument and lost another night. You remembered every insult. Every debt. Every shove. You remembered everything. Everything except love. [Bridge — spoken-sung, stripped back] Here is what I could not bear. You knew what time he came home. You knew what tone she used. You knew who apologised last. Who started it. Who finished it. Who failed to buy the milk. You had records. Evidence. Witnesses. Excellent. But neither of you could remember the last time you reached across a table for no reason except to touch. [Verse 3] I am not asking for forgiveness before the wound is known. I am not selling cheap affection to keep two people home. Sometimes love has truly ended. Sometimes leaving is the truth. But do not bury what once lived beneath the rubble of the proof. At least say: “Yes. There was a time your face could change my day.” At least allow the dead or wounded thing its name before you walk away. [Final Chorus — roaring, then opening] You forgot about love. And God, you remembered pain. You watered every grievance till it flowered again and again. You forgot about love. While sharpening the past. You made the case so perfectly there was nothing left to last. But if there is one ember, one absurd unfinished spark, stop proving who owns daylight and sit together in the dark. You remembered every insult. Every debt. Every shove. Now try, just once, to remember love. [Outro — low, exhausted] They came to talk about the marriage. We talked for ninety minutes. Near the end, I asked: “Did you ever love each other?” And for the first time they both went quiet.
