The Contest

It all starts with baby steps, sweeping up the mess
Tinsel, pine needles, paper and skin at the base of the chest
Choking on songs not sung, taping the tape
Strung high on a pole at town hall
Raising the roof with the roots and the truth
Or a schooner to sleep through it all

Bring forth seven tables of chances
See all of the cards in my hand
With nothing to hide I invite you to look at me straight in the eye
And this contest is finalised



Credits
Writer(s): Stephen Sondheim
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

Link