Brace your broken finger from all the times you shot me down. 
Lying now won't cover your guilt-stained hands. 
You stabbed me in the back, revealing your shaded lies. 
This time, your canvas won't come clean. 

(Chorus:)
Broken frame, black-stained brush from all the 
times you concealed your lies, 
but still they seep through the lines. 
Wake up! You paint a portrait of a lying heart.

Tracing the technique to strengthen your ability. 
Harsh strokes try to weaken my design. 
Scared of failing, you've become what you despise. 
This time, your canvas won't come clean.