You pick out your lies from that handbag of yours
One by one
At the right time, never using one twice
Making sure your little bag is never empty of them, but oh
How they must weigh you down -

And there you are again preaching your own lies
That they all believe and love

But do you fool even yourself?

You, toying with danger and blood like a young child in a brightly-lit playground,
One day you’re going to get hurt boy, and then maybe you’ll learn your lesson

There’s a brief moment that passes when the mechanical beasts cease roaring across the pathway,
When the air is light but the sky is dark, and small leaves tumble uncoordinatedly through the air like snow
When the trees toss their dappled shadows upon the road which glints dully with a warm orange glow
So important a moment that even the silence in the shifting air listens as the clouds weep to the ground