You were a brand new, blue jean, picket on the front lawn， A reason just to get off the floor。 From a friend to a stranger, a simple rearranger， Should I even open that door? It was a Sunday morning hanging by a shoelace， Felt like you were starting a war， Now you're changing, and moving, I'll take my ass to Houston， Cause I don't think you love me anymore。 You were a headache, somedays, but surely no one’s perfect， Well loving you’s like doing a chore。 Instead of blaming and bruising, and watching what I’m losing， I don't think I love you anymore。 And if this is my goodbye， It's been the longest of my life I see my shoes have been filled， And still, all I can hope is that he's treating you nice。 I see the new man you're holding, the bar is finally closing， I don't know what I'm bugging you for。 Between the silence and the mileage, the feelings you were hiding， I don't think you love me anymore。 And I don't think I love you anymore。 But I don’t think I’ll ever be so sure。