There was limited chance of flying with me

While you surrounded yourself with her dark mystery

But worst of all you sold your soul

And she helped you to dig a fucking great hole

Playing the victim, suits worn seeking attention

Saving you from yourself was my foolish intention

When I did reach out with some comic relief

I was met with a challenge beyond my belief

The bridge you designed to reach my imagination

Collapsed several times under your own jubilation

Safety in numbers and a strategy to win

Words are your weapons and reasoning for sin

When I made my choices to play your game

My disappointment rose as you put me to shame

But I read somewhere experience is necessary

So I played along until I read your obituary

Now life has shifted like sand in the hour glass

Pussyfoot wishes you the best knowing the pain will pass