You walk the tight rope
just like the acrobat you see on stage
You see her grace and beauty
you just don't feel the same

She steps and she turns
so confident in balance
but you can't muster up a move
theres a fifty fifty chance you'll lose

Her hair long and silky
her face exquisitly devine
Your roots are growing in
Makeup isn't something you can find

She glances in your direction
you turn and look away
Despair is in her eyes
A different story, a different day

You both walk that tight rope
Circus girls in the making
Different as can be
but the same way you're fading.