I charge you for stealing my heart, making me captive in your twisted lies.

Then you accused me, for cheating on you.

For backstabbing you, betraying you.

Making a ploy, trying to get others.

What does that make you then?

Your slanderous, your propagandas, how childish you are.

Accusing me for nothing.

Accusing me for lying.

Then what does that make you.

I accuse you for killing our love and murdering my heart and my soul.

In the end though, I feel like I’m the one with the life sentence; the death penalty, waiting on my head.

While you’re off, scotch free. How come I feel like I’m the bad in all this, when you didn’t have proof of it?

You went behind my back, ask my friend and never looked and face me.

Are you ashamed by me? Are you kidding yourself? I hope you’re happy, because you did this to yourself.

Sure it may not hurt now, but later you feel the mistake you made.

You’ll see soon, that I didn’t do no wrong.

But you accused me for things you did and have been blinded by fear and shame.

But thanks to you, now I’m free from your cuffs of distant love.

Now you’re suffering the way I did.

So I guess, the accuser became the accused. Now you’re living with a life sentence of pure lies and melancholy.

While I feel light as the air and waiting for the next one to come into my life.

And erase the marks you made on me.