What madness made you believe that I
Would let you treat me like a
doting fool?
That I would
ignore each thoughtless lie,
And carry on like everything was
cool?
Did you think, perhaps, I was
deaf and
blind?
Or maybe that I wouldn't
want to see?
That I wouldn't look, or I wouldn't find
What you barely even tried to
hide from me?
I'm afraid, my friend, that
you've got me wrong
For all of your
claims that you know me well,
And when you leave here, I'll still get along
So, just pack your bags, and
make tracks for hell.
And please, don't think that when you've gone
I'll shed a
tear. All my
crying's done.