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