I Get It

You told me you lose weight on the moon.
I wasn't too smart, I corrected you when you said it.
Then you asked me what the word weight means,
and I said "Oh. Hah, I get it."

You showed me your house and said you were homeless.
I said you had a roof, don't say such things when you'll regret it.
Then you opened the door and showed me the abuse.
and I said "Oh. Yeah, I get it."

You told me once in the past you'd never hurt those around you.
But yet I know you hurt me, so I asked why you did it.
You drew a circle around your feet, said nothing else mattered.
So I said "Mhm. Now I get it."

Then you had the nerve to keep asking me why I was green.
You know I've always been blue, and I asked you to quit it.
But even in plain sight you insisted I wasn't.
In all honesty, I don't really get it.

But what I don't get I get is virtually ungettable,
and if I pursued it I might do something regrettable.
It's the things I do get that are truly unforgettable,
and it's what we give back that is duly as incredible.