In the ashes of our greatest year, I forced the point and gave them grief, as if I find relief to see the worst in everyone. Still, it's hard to be cruel to you. I wish I could -- no, that's not it. See, what I mean to say is this: in this mad world it's hard to see the imperfection in your smile, and it's hard to be true to you. Even though I run away from you, I'm sorry; I wish I had chosen to be true. I'm sorry; I miss your disposition and your strength I'll miss your disposition and your strength to see the best in everyone. Still, it's hard to cruel to you.