Closing all the curtains and turning out
the lights. Won't chase the shadows from
the walls, and that's a fact.
Turning up the music in that lonely room
can't drowned out the silence, but you
know that.
If, in the wee small hours of the morning
the sweat upon your skin is all your own.
And that inane smile you're wearing, isn't
worthy of the face its painted on.
Then, who do you think you're fooling my
friend? And just where are you headed,
standing still?
If your pride won't let you see, it's
later than you think, and fair weather
friends won't tell you, I will.