Hes on the grindstone

Not Safely stumbling home

He could'a got there quicker but his feet dont know their way alone

You're on his mind though

Like Treakle dancing slow

Bread crumbs on the path that show where you want him to go

He's In the fly trap

The only one that doesnt know

Honeys dripping from her lips, it's to much for him to resist

Steamy moments

Wet, rolling in the grass

Decisions in the damp night air, it's growing fruit that's yet to bare

Morning's twilight

Sweet breath sticking to his clothes

Red lips on his collar, unwind the yarn he's tried to sew

In the fly trap

Building a kennel in the snow

Old dog, new tricks, no time to grow

Maybe next time she don't have to know

Now the pots calling the kettle black

This time she dont want him back

The pots been burnt

Is it for the last time?

Squeezing his grapes fresh from the vine

The pots calling the kettle black

She dont want him back

She's burning

For the last time

She's burning for the last time

In her web now, he can't break free

Her sweet nectar is all he sees

He knows he should go, but he can't resist

Squeeze him tight, he's powerless

Crushed his grapes now she makes him whine

Stripped him bare like a winter vine

Flies trapped in each others game

Pot kettle black it's all the same

Pot kettle black the same

Now the pots calling the kettle black

This time she dont want him back

The pots been burnt

Is it for the last time?

Squeezing his grapes fresh from the vine

The pots calling the kettle black

She dont want him back

Shes burning

For the last time

She's burning for the last time

Crushed grapes

Now you make him whine

Stripped bare

The winter vine

Well pot kettle black the same

Well pot kettle black the same

Pot, kettle, black the

Same