Revisionist History (Haven't Changed a Thing)

I never enjoyed the sound of a closing door
The second the lock clicked behind me I dove on the floor
And I clawed at the woodwork for a brief glance of anything
How much time passed me by before I even thought to concede
That as hard as I'd tried, I knew I hadn't changed a thing?

Who was I to judge her from the crack underneath the door?
Embarrassed and shamed I resolved not to lie there anymore
But then she sat against the door frame and she read aloud to me
And she twisted the words that we'd written to fit her needs

But if we wrote this in pencil, we can erase every line
And censor each passage that brings old wounds to mind
But each torn out page will leave a jagged scar along our spines
And remind us that, in the end, we haven't changed a thing

The good and the bad and the memories exploded in flames
The walls turned to ash but we sat there and fought for our names
Whatever we meant to write, it was not meant to be
From authors to arsonists, from ink to kerosene
Locked up in the attic, we yearned and we burned to be free

And I still hear the echo of her voice from miles away
For all my misconceptions, its a price I'm willing to pay
But we can't hope for tomorrow when we can't agree on yesterday

Oh, if we wrote this in pencil, we can erase every line
And censor each passage that brings old wounds to mind
But each torn out page will leave a jagged scar along our spines
And remind us that, in the end, we haven't changed a thing
We haven't changed a thing