Chris Cross.

I write stories for pleasure,
Love songs for pain.
I could use you for leisure,
But what could I gain?
Because when I
Try to lie,
It all comes out the same.

Blind by the streetlights in a mad search for fame,
With the clothes on my back and a penny to my name;
And it seems we're just pawns in this twisted game.
Yet when I
Try to lie,
It all comes out the same.

So we all don our Docs and we hop on the train,
Just to avoid all the midsummer rain,
That in the blue night we had heard as we'd lain.
Don't lie to me, darling.
You're all just the same.