I admit.
I am your utterly
disillusioned waste of space.
I play the prominent part
in a lavish masquerade
of all the world's lowly taste.

A fiasco
in my past state.
A ruin
in progress.
A vision of demise
when tomorrow commences.

Sheer disappointment,
I caused to thee.
Holds back from life,
my destiny.
Knuckling under
the dull moonlight
all of my dreams
as they lose from sight.

It's true,
I've been a fool,
making lots of awful tunes.
Wrapping up mem'ries
with shabby rhymes.
Hiding under the rubble
of my shattered life.

I then concede.
I ask you all to plead
from your many gods
forgiveness for a soul
who had lost all control.

Truly,
it was nice
to hear a plentiful
sorrowful
terrible cries.

But no matter what goes on
in the head of the overthrown,
I had to slowly surrender
and give up my own disguise;
it's a new lease on life.

But I hale you all to listen.

For my words are sacred til I die.
But not when I tell you
not to believe when I try to guile.
'Cause while I'm your silver-tongued girl,
I am willing to tell more lies.

*But words aren't much sacred;
never, until you die.