Hey, can I tell you a secret
I am cheating on my wife,
hey, this in in confidence,
but we're letting Joe go
even though this job is his life,
just between you and me
I didn't pay a dime,
and don't mention that I've got drugs
I could end up doing time,
What makes people
make me their confessor,
their party to the lie,
can't they see
my honesty
will not let me deny
the truth or the origin
of their admitted sin,
not to say I will "tell on them"
or "air their dirty laundry"
but if questioned directly
they have put me in a quandary,
for my face will full reveal,
though my lips keep their seal,
the truth of an accusation
in an expression whose creation
I cannot halt
whether questioned
about something someone else has done
or something that's my own fault,
but maybe not everyone
really knows what to see
because I am not a saint
and have sometimes managed dishonesty
I don't feel well enough
that I think I want to come to work today
Even if I felt like a million dollars,
but didn't want to work,
that statement would be true
But the deception is evident
when they inevitably ask,
just what is wrong with you
Well, I, uh. . .
my eyes drop to the floor
will you let me be silent
or must we lie a little more?
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