|
He looks as if he hasn't slept |
|
His hair is purposely unkept |
|
And then he know his people wept |
|
When you crafted your plan |
|
Shadows underneath the eyes |
|
And everywhere the bastard lies |
|
My lack of proof is your disguise |
|
You won't remember me |
|
There's nothing really |
|
I can sayBut sorry mate and walk away |
|
I could be wrong unless you play your game |
|
This world is full of most unkind |
|
And horrible is redefined |
|
I can't imagine that you'd mind at all |
|
You're lying again, you're conscience in your friend |
|
And the only thing you're sorting out is your imagination |
|
Lying again, your conscience in your friend |
|
And the only thing you're sorting out is your imagination |
|
Is he really on the street? |
|
Desperation or deceit? |
|
And what he's wearing on his feet |
|
Won't solve our mystery |
|
And I am baffled by |
|
How you stand there, soaking it in |
|
And do you hide your identity |
|
Where you hide your grin? |
|
Better hide your grin |
|
Shadows underneath the eyes |
|
Everywhere the bastard lies |
|
My lack of proof is your disguise |
|
You won't remember me |
|
There's nothing really |
|
I can sayBut sorry mate and walk away |
|
I could be wrong unless you play your game |
|
This world is full of most unkind |
|
And horrible is redefined |
|
I can't imagine that you'd mind at all |
|
You're lying again, your conscience in your friend |
|
And the only thing you're sorting out is your imagination |
|
Lying again, conscience in your friend |
|
And the only thing you're sorting out is your imagination |
