You fell in love with my Sunday best. I knew you would, that's why I got dressed. For better or best or for petulance, whichever parable you choose to test. You fell in love with my Sunday best, a bait-and-switch of my architect. No ill will or childish jest, but you're right, I knew how this might end. How spoiled this soul, this heart a mess. But it was never really yours to wreck. We'll carry on, we'll find what's next. We clean up well in our Sunday best.