[Storyteller.]

I'm so glad you made time to see me.
How's life, tell me, how's your family?
I haven't seen them in a while.
You've been good, busier than ever.

We small talk - work and the weather.
Your guard is up and I know why.
(Because the last time you saw me
is still burned in the back of your mind.)

You gave me roses, and I left them there to die.

So this is me swallowing my pride,
standing in front of you, saying,
I'm sorry for that night,
and I go back to December all the time.

Turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you,
wishing I'd realised what I had when you were mine.
I go back to December, turn around and make it all right,
I go back to December all the time.

These days, I haven't been sleeping;
staying up late, playing back myself leaving,
when your birthday passed, and I didn't call.

Then I think about the summer,
all the beautiful times,
I watched you laughing from the passenger side,
and I realised I loved you
in the fall.

And then the cold came, the dark days,
when fear crept into my mind.
You gave me all your love,
and all I gave you
was goodbye.

Maybe this is wishful thinking,
probably mindless dreaming,
but if we loved again,
I swear I'd love you right.

I'd go back and change it,
but I can't.
So if the chain is on your door,
I understand.