| He looks as if he hasn’t slept
|
| His hair is purposely unkept
|
| In many doorways, 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 say
|
| But «Sorry, mate» and walk away
|
| I could be wrong on this, 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 isn’t your friend
|
| And the only thing you’re sobbing at is your imagination
|
| Lying again, your conscience isn’t your friend
|
| And the only thing you’re sobbing at 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?
|
| You’d better hide your grin
|
| 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 say
|
| But «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 isn’t your friend
|
| And the only thing you’re sobbing at is your imagination
|
| Lying again, your conscience isn’t your friend
|
| And the only thing you’re sobbing at is your imagination |