There I go again..from bits and pieces.. from random shots and torn conversations and God knows what else that makes me think of you over and over..you appear as if you always were, with your reflections in black and white and a touch of blood oh so blue.. What to make of it but trouble..Trouble in your trembling voice, in a way you see right through me..I want to hide from you..and find you everywhere. I should have met you in Paris. I have a feeling you'd be all wrong for me and I'd love it..and that's what I need least, isn't it ?..always the case.