the truth

David Byrne

The truth, my dear, said Norma Shearer
Is the last thing a man ever wants to hear.

It s not a joke, it s not a game
You hear it once, and you re never the same

We re poor little things
Pathetic young dears
As fragile as toast
And driven by fear

You won t forget unforgivable hurt
And that it s a surprise only makes matters worse

Words at the wrong time
Hit the heart like a fist
I can barely stand up
I wasn t ready for this!

But you are my truth, and that s completely clear
So I beg to differ with Miss Norma Shearer
It can t hurt me now, I ll just let it go
And burnt like these matches and worn like these clothes

Now it s only a word
That s just how it goes
The truth cannot hurt me
I know what I know
I know, I know