He doesn't need me, oh no.

No, he's got a new mistress now.

And she goes by the name of Perfection.

She's victim to years of subjection;

She's the picture of secretive dejection.

Money and fame made her who she is,

And all the glamour of her life attracted him to her.

I won't compete for his heart.

It's not mine's, no, not one part.

He seeks new highs now,

And they frighten me quite frankly.

The high life is what he wants.

A life of lustful gaunts.

He's above me in his mind,

But I'll always be on top of this mountain.

Where fame and fortune can't buy you a spot.

Where he use to stand, respectively, right beside me.

It's a lonely mountaintop now,

But at least its not soiled by his image of Perfection.