He turns his head, outside, the streets are dead enough
We fell on the bed and suddenly, we were somewhere else
Curled in your neck, arching my back, I taste you again
In any embrace, there certainly is a limited view
Do you think I don't mean it?
Do you think I don't mean it?
Do you think I don't mean it?
I do
I wanted you to love me as you had loved me once
I was already waiting when you drove out of sight
Limping, I played invalid to win you back
I would've loved you so much more, you should have wanted me again
Do you think I don't mean it?
Do you think I don't mean it?
Do you think I don't mean it?
I do
I wore out my last pair of shoes for you
The ashtray is heaped with my response to you
But the liquor cabinet is empty of all feelings for you
And the streets are slick with my remorse for you
Do you think I don't mean it?
Do you think I don't mean it?
Do you think I don't mean it?
I do
I Mean It was written by Benjamin Bossi & Peter Woods & Frank Zincavage & Debora Iyall.
I Mean It was produced by David Kahne.