You always looked good in dark suits with golden buttons on your cuff. Those were always a nice touch, to stand side your perfect figurine.
You were everything I once wanted. But now, you really aren't.
I see the rushing of the real truths of you, swell into your own hands, dropping a ball, losing your own special touch of sportsmanship with not much of a fuss. You're letting yourself lose the game.
Just letting balls of truth squirt out through your veins.
You're losing your grip right out from your own polished finger tips and dripping red of blood.
You constantly try to pull white handkerchiefs of innocence from the wrists of your cuffs. But, those handkerchiefs are all just red...
Don't try and gamble a bad hand if you can't keep up. You never could keep a good bluff.