You had too much to do tomorrow
And too many to see tonight
His house better suits your slumber
Still you stab me in your sober sight

Now my rags sit dormant in your closet
You're hugged loosely by rags from him
Rags you've thrown back at him once
That you're wearing as riches again

A quiet war coming that I didn't see
Even though you're draped in the warning flags
Is your own skin so uncomfortable
That you need his rich little rags?