[Verse 1]
She caught me in the foyer, under that cheap chandelier,
With a look that said, “You’re a beautiful disaster—and your end is near.”
She clutched the remains of a perfectly good night out,
While I straightened my jacket, plotting the quickest way out.
See, the thing about me, love—it’s not malice, it’s just physics,
I’m a non-stick surface for all your emotional theatrics.
It was the rain on the pavement, the broken bus route,
Any excuse but the truth—I’ve got a thousand to roll out.
[Pre-Chorus]
I pulled out the script I keep in my left-hand pocket,
The one that starts, “I’ve gotta be honest, love—the vibe just blocked it.”
It’s not me, it’s the lighting, the crowd, the ambiance,
I always slip the noose before they get the chance.
[Chorus]
'Cause I’ve got a Velvet Alibi, tailored and pressed,
Smooth enough to talk my way out of this emotional mess.
It’s never my fault—it’s the miscommunication, dear,
The timing, the stars, the whiskey, or maybe the flickering pier.
[Verse 2]
She said, “You left a feeling—like a hole burned through the rug.”
I said, “That wasn’t a feeling, love—it was the cigarette and a shrug.”
You mistake indifference for some calculated design,
But I’m just moving efficiently, in a straight, unbending line.
I’m a connoisseur of exits, the well-placed sigh,
The subtle suggestion that maybe you’re the reason why.
Wrong week, wrong tie, wrong astrological sign—
Anything to distract from the fact this cold heart is mine.
[Pre-Chorus]
She narrowed her eyes, said, “Don’t you ever feel the weight of consequence?”
I said, “Consequences are for people without this much confidence.”
It’s not me—it’s the structure, the socio-economic strain,
I always vanish just before the emotional rain.
[Chorus]
'Cause I’ve got a Velvet Alibi, tailored and pressed,
Smooth enough to talk my way out of this emotional mess.
It’s never my fault—it’s the miscommunication, dear,
The timing, the stars, the whiskey, or maybe the flickering pier.
I’m the elegant ghost in your story, always well-dressed,
Too polished to be cornered, too charming to be stressed.
You can try to hold me accountable, love, you can try your best—
But I’m halfway down the fire escape, putting your mind at rest.
[Bridge: half tempo]
And the irony, darling—the twist I adore—
Is you’ll spend the next month wondering who you were talking to before.
Was I real? Was I fiction? A well-assembled metaphor?
Did I sell you the dream, or just walk out the door?
I’m the unanswered question you keep playing on repeat,
The slick, non-refundable receipt for a moment that was sweet.
[Guitar Solo]
[Outro:Drums fade. Bass trails off. Vocals whispered with a smirk.]
Put your mind at rest, darling.
It never even happened.
Sean_Williamson
