Accountability, if it stinks, it just stinks.
They paint you black to wash their hands of white,
To sleep at night without a shred of doubt.
They write the script where you become the blight,
And scream their twisted narrative about.
For guilt is heavy, and the truth is sharp,
A mirror that would shatter their facade.
So on the strings of victimhood they harp,
And play the martyr to a self-made god.
They did the dirt, they left you in the cold,
They crossed the lines and broke the sacred trust.
Yet in the story that to friends they told,
They left your bruised and battered heart in dust.
Accountability’s a bitter glass,
Too foul a vintage for their lips to take.
They\'d rather watch the burning bridges pass
Than admit the wicked choices that they make.
So let them cast their stones and play the part,
And wear the crown of their denial, too.
They need a villain to excuse their heart—
Let them pretend. The truth still lives in you.