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The Art of War

de Nick Devon

When I think of your hands sliding down my back
When I think of your sweat on my skin
And your moist breath whispering in my ear

I get sick
Sick to my stomach

I pretended to love you longer than I did
I wish I could erase the images I see
Your satisfied grin, you lying beneath me, dear

I get sick
Sick to my stomach

How could I let you get so close?
You slithered in when I was needy
By the time I saw it for what it was
It was too late to put on the brakes

When I think of the way people are looking at me
Like I lead you on -- they're wrong
They don't know the whole story
And now you turn me on, oh you turn me on
About as much as sandpaper masturbation, dear


What flash of insanity
Could have made me
Do what I did?

With all your false maturity
It's a lie
You're nothing but a kid

You devoured my skin
How could I let you in
And out and in and out and in and out and in and out?


When I think of what never should have been
It makes my head spin

I get sick
Sick to my stomach

I think I'm gonna puke

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