I know you practice your li[n]es,
you say, "make-up is not my thing,"
but put on layers of yellow paint
to hide the grays and blacks.

Oh how good you are,
how good of a liar you are,
to convince you and me,
that you are fine.

But sister, do you understand?
We are made of the same blood.
You will not hide from me,
no more running.

You can come undone to me,
and if you let me (please let me),
I'll be the one who'll hold off the rope,
help you become unbound.

Sister, I am here,
you can escape with me.
And I'll wait for that sunny Sunday morning,
when you're ready to be happy.