Ev’rytime we speak, you’re twistin’ in the knife,
killin’ with suspicion, questionin’ each day my life.
Cock-sure of my guilt, don’t believe my innocence,
preachin’ to deaf ears, ragin’ with suspicious bent.
I know exactly what it is, that I have to do,
but I can’t leave, I cannot go, because
I still love you.
I’m holier than Jesus, but you’re bearin’ some old grudge,
maybe you’ve forgotten, judge not lest ye be the judged.
Patience is a virtue, bu’-you’re no’ go’n’-to forgive.
should jump an’ cut my losses, hangin’ on this frigid cliff.
Blamed for a thousand crimes,
servin’ out my jail time.
©16.7.2019 Andrew Robert Chapman
killin’ with suspicion, interferin’ with my life.
words fall on deaf ears, rage from suspicious bent.