You can call it what you will,
decant your lies into a chalice,
paint a picture in bright pastels
overshadowing your malice,
but I know.
And until I die, let it be so.

Stammer out half-assed excuses,
push it all under the bed,
maybe then you'll numb the conscience
killing you from in your head,
but I'll still know.
And until we kiss, let it be so.

When you reach the top, remember
those you stepped on to succeed,
though I'm rooting for you, I'll be
laughing while I watch you bleed
because I know.
And until I taste your blood, it's so.

Yet I truly cannot hate you,
were it me, I'd do the same.
Understand, it's simply circumstances,
passing you the blame,
and this I know.
But until you break, it must be so.