"Poor little you..." "It’s always someone else’s fault," "Right?" "Yeah, right." [Verse 1] Oh, darling, spin your little web of lies, Roll those tears, fake a breakdown, "What a surprise." You play the queen, throne built on my pain, But your drama’s getting old, it’s all the same. You stomp and pout when you don’t get your way, A spoiled brat in a grown-up’s charade. Go on, cry wolf, let the world applaud, But I’m not buying your victim card fraud. [Pre-Chorus] You throw your fits, scream ‘til you’re red, Poor little you, it’s all in your head. You swing your pain like a cheap, dull knife, Guess what, sweetheart? I’m done with your strife. [Chorus] Oh, I’m so over your little puppet-strings game, Your crocodile tears and your whining refrain. You’re a one-trick show, and I’m done with the act, Take your chaos and your baggage, I’m not coming back I’m done, I’m free, cut the strings, let ‘em fray, Good luck playing martyr when I walk away. [Verse 2] You wield your scars like a loaded dart, Aiming for guilt, straight for my heart. Every fight’s your stage, you’re the star, you’re the lead... burn it all down to feed your need. You say nobody listens While you drown them out Manipulate emotions Until they scream and shout [Pre-Chorus] You throw your fits, scream ‘til you’re red, Poor little you, it’s all in your head. You swing your pain like a cheap, dull knife, Guess what, sweetheart? I’m done with your strife. [Chorus] Oh, I’m so over your little puppet-strings game, Your crocodile tears and your whining refrain. You’re a one-trick show, and I’m done with the act, Take your chaos and your baggage, I’m not coming back. I’m done, I’m free, cut the strings, let ‘em fray, Good luck playing martyr when I walk away. [Bridge] You thought you’d keep me tangled, wrapped in your scheme, But your pity party’s not my kind of scene. Go cry to your little barbie in disguise, I’m done with your drama, your manipulative lies. Your tantrums can echo, but I won’t hear, I’m out the door, and your reign ends here. [Chorus] So over your little puppet-strings game, Your crocodile tears and your whining refrain. You’re a one-trick show, and I’m done with the act, Take your chaos and your baggage, I’m not coming back. I’m done, I’m free, cut the strings, let ‘em fray, Good luck playing martyr when I walk away. I'm walking away— [Outro] I’m out, I’m gone, and you’re the one to blame.
