I don't like the way
you've been spreading this stuff around.
I've heard you say everything,
but I never made a sound.
Maybe it's an accident, or maybe it's for the thrill.
Shame if the latter.
There's a reason I don't tell you things.
It's a private matter.
I know I don't do much,
but be careful what you say.
I know so many things,
like every rumor that you've spread today.
I know why you do these things.
It's just to make a mess.
But someday it'll come back for you,
and I could really care less.