What madness made you believe that I
Would let you treat me like a doting fool?
That I would ignore each thoughtless lie,
And carry on like everything was cool?
Did you think, perhaps, I was deaf and blind?
Or maybe that I wouldn't want to see?
That I wouldn't look, or I wouldn't find
What you barely even tried to hide from me?
I'm afraid, my friend, that you've got me wrong
For all of your claims that you know me well,
And when you leave here, I'll still get along
So, just pack your bags, and make tracks for hell.
And please, don't think that when you've gone
I'll shed a tear. All my crying's done.

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