The Debt ​I loved a person who didn’t exist, Or maybe he just died when the lying began. It’s a strange kind of grief to hold in my fist: Loving the ghost, but hating the man. ​You pointed the finger to cover your tracks, Calling me names that belonged to you. You painted your sins across my back And swore that your gray was my shade of blue. ​Now when we pass, I don’t look away, Though the words that you yelled still ring in my head. I’ve got nothing left to hear or to say; I’m living the life that you wished was dead. ​You kept the secrets, I kept the truth. I think we both know who got the better deal