I will stop beating about the bush
I am coming clean - calling my own bluff.
This will set thecat amongst the pigeons
And pull that wool from your eyes.
So take off your rose-tinted glasses
And see me as the cunning red-herring that I am
I'm the pot who calls the kettle black
- Whose bark is worse than their bite.
I'm the cat who got the cream
In this dog-eat-dog world.
But with a permanent chip on my shoulder
From being unable to have my cake and eat it,
My dreams are taking shape.
And I've learnt to take life on the chin.
It may come as a bitter pill to swallow,
But a little bird told me
That those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones
Face up; we are all full of it.