Burt Bacharach
Everyone’s Playing House
Well, well, isn't this sweet
Everyone's playing house
I'm not meaning to mock
Or trespass
On this pretty plain picture-perfect scene
This is delicious
How could I be so rude?
I'd never be malicious
Or dare even to intrude
It's coming to pass
Can you believe your eyes?
Are you living with love?
Or are you living with a lie (lie, lie, lie lie)?
Lies
I know that you want me
Scatter those dishes
Give into your wishes
You've seen it all
I know that you do
You've pictured this
With the light pouring in
Glistening
With the covers pulled back
And my clothes torn away from my skin
Well, well, isn't this tart
Just like my bitter heart
So let's end if you don't
Have the courage to begin with
Do you want to slap me?
Until I can say what for
Do you want to kiss me?
Just once and no more
You play the family man
In the sad aftermath
Fingers for peeking right through
Just like Daddies do
Now my scent is on your breath
I'm going to make you a mess
He pressed the glass to my lips
"I'm going to make you"
I'm going to make you
I'm going to make you a mess