The cup on the counter leaves a circular stain
The rut from the tire is deep in the clay
The flat of the grass where a body was laid
The contents of pockets all strewn on a table
Why try to lie to me
I'm not a child I know what I've seen
Why try to lie to me
I'm not a child I know what I've seen
The fray of the fabric, the edge of the chair
The hard to reach places, the things you put there
Ashes on cinders long after the flames
The rain on the road leaves a beautiful haze
Why try to lie to me
I'm not a child I know what I've seen
Why try to lie to me
I'm not a child I know what I've seen
