Lletres: Sarah Brightman. Let Me Finish.

Just what time of night do you call this?
No, I?m not all right. I?ve said this before
but you haven?t heard.
Let me finish, I said let me finish.
(How long did it take before you rung the doorbell?)
Hair?s combed, and your ties a little too perfect.
No more alibis, no more stupid lies, what a fool I?ve been!
Let me finish, I said let me finish.
Wait a minute you?ll get your turn,
it?s not often I get the chance to talk.
It?s getting harder to hide that I?m no spring chicken.
Forever?s not as long as it used to be.
Never thought I would ever say,
keep Manhattan, give me Muswell Hill.
Sick of looking at your fair-off sweaters
and your constant sneezing when the pollens high.
(No I don?t want a drink.) Not yet.
I?ve rehearsed these next lines for ages.
Why do I feel cold?

I suppose it?s nerves. I don?t need a drink.
It?s not the end of the world if you lose me!
I?ve made up my mind, I think that I have.
I don?t care if the neighbors hear!
You always say us British are too reserve.
I somehow hope that you would tell me
you?ve found somebody else, not now.
Let me finish.
You?ll get your chance to call me a child.
I don?t want to hurt you. Stop screaming.
It hurts when I hurt you.
Face facts, you and I are simply not suited.
I want kids. You won?t even talk about them.
Please don?t. I must not be talked into staying.