cliche

one more game, one more chance, one more orchestrated song and dance, he'd be up front and speak his peace, and ask for her time, to put their heads together, and try to make the knot unwind, and it strikes home that it's time to make his move, or it's time to turn and walk away, so he plays that old cliche, silent tears, bleeding heart, well our prima donna plies her art, defenses of defenses of faultless design, still she's only asking him, to help her make the knot unwind, and if the very next words, leaving her lips could decide, if he'd go or if he'd stay, she would play that old cliche, who makes up the rules for the world?, haven't we been down this road before?, isn't anything peculiar here?, certainly there must be something more, where are the words, where are the words, where are the words, where are the words, where are the words, where are the words, and it's almost not worth singing about, it seems so everyday anyway, still we play that old cliche, and here sit i, one man show, i vivisect and then pretend to know, all it ever gets me is an ache in the mind, can't somebody help me to try to make the knot unwind, and i say what i say when i know, there's really nothing left to say, then i play that old cliche, throw away that old cliche