The life of the body absorbed by a strife,
Unsettled, and stormy,
It swirls and ignites,
A personal drama as real as a knife,
Simple and sensuous rage and delight,

The stage is the soul and the soul is a fright,
The actors are gilded and wielding the plights
of their parts aimed at hearts at the heights of their hearths
And the mice and the men, they all shrink to decide,

So the bickering started when sides were so drawn,
And demands, they were placed for all eyes looking on,
But concerns such as safety prevented the rightful
Decree of my conscience, the Earth of my scourn,

There may not be honor, equivocal speech,
Uttered, I'd dance an advance and retreat,
But the truth in the matter's how hallow the blame,
Became when it came from each manner's deceit,

The real wrong ran as deep as the core of the planet,
As hot as to melt all the glass and the granite,
That built all the homes that our families' founded,
Soaring rhetorical speech to be grounded,

When my truth is spoken, unbroken and free.