Over my dead body - Mel Afoa

Its amusing how the excuses that come of your mouth,
flow softly and gently like the long Nile river of Eqypt.
Different words every day, different story every month,
each one more pathetic and hilarious than the next.

Must you always make a fool of yourself like that?
Do you not find it a tad bit embarrassing?
Claiming you were working late on Monday night at the office,
and were out with your boys playing poker on Wednesday afternoon.

Stuck in traffic from five to nine on Bull Road,
Visiting your old mate at eleven o'clock pm, sharp.
Tell me honey, do I look like a fool to you or something?
You must've thought I was born yesterday.

Did you think I'd like to sleep alone at night on a king-size bed,
four nights a week, surrounded by just pillows and bed sheets?
To enter a relationship with a guy that could not love you back was suicide,
it was like poking your own eyes with the sharpest of needles,
simultaneously slicing your wrist with a sharp, pointy knife.

Thought me stupid, you must have, but your thoughts were nothing but,
checked your emails and schedule whilst you were 'out',
found interesting information for you to share, such a trained private eye,
so tell me honey, tell me my lovely, tell me why this is to be?
I must be that boring or uninteresting for you to cheat on me.

But now that I've seen your truest colours and your beastly ways,
you want to run back into my arms and ask for forgiveness,
and for the beautiful love that radiates out from my soul,
Bitch. Over my dead body.