So I think I've got nothing to say,
but I've tried to say nothing before
and a word or two always escapes.
And that word lets you back in the door.
If only you saw what I just can't explain,
but the look in my eyes just can't make it to yours,
and I'm already clear, I'm already sure,
I already know what I have to decide -
but every time you lie, I change my mind. Every time.
Every time you lie, I change my mind.
It's not as though you're dishonest. You tell yourself
the same story you tell me, and neither of us believes
it. Both of us can see. It's amazing neither one of us
winks, but then - we're sick
to death of the punchline of this joke, coming as it does
predictably, expertly executed and delivered, timed out
to a neatness, pitched plumb perfect into the middle of the room,
where it dies. Even though we both buy it, sell it
for all that it's worth, and our timing - is everything! Still,
it dies, the same joke cut cloned from the same cloth, born
still. It dies. We see the truth coming a mile off,
and every time you lie,
I change my mind. I've decided I can stop
waiting for my part to speak, I have improvised.
This comedy is hereby shuttered, we have journalism
to announce: you're wrong for me. It bounds in headline
form, screaming at one hundred forty four points:
you're wrong for me.
You're wrong for me, and I don't need
to wait anymore, for my part to speak. Oh just you wait
'til you finish your line. The next one's mine.