I wish I knew what was going through your head
When you color code your make-up
And you sugar-coat your lies
You can compromise your morals
But don't you waste my fucking time

I hope you feel sick
When you think of coming clean
Cause your hands are so cold
But only when they're touching me

I'm sure he flatters you with flowers
I know he tries to treat you well
I know he fills you up with expensive foods and liquors
And tells you that your family
Is not as important as himself

I hope you feel sick
When you think of coming clean
Cause your hands are so cold
But only when they're touching me

I got a right hook with his name on it
You wrote the handbook on how to be dishonest
I don't know you anymore

I don't know
I don't know
I don't know

That's just the risk of coming home