Oh lies, oh lies,
I know them by their tone,
They have this... nervous tick,
a habit of leaving little vacuums
so they can live in their little
depressions, and anxieties,
which they are quite comfortable in.
They feed on joy
and keep turning the thermostat down to zero!

(Let's hunt them, and skin them,
and throw them out of the yard)

Oh truth, oh truth,
I know her by the manner in which
she speaks: gently.
a voice glistening with hope,
in every form of joy,
permeating every iota,
saying in that polyphonic
timbre, "You were made
for love and nothing else
will satisfy. Open your eyes,
see this love, and come alive."

(Let's marry her and make
our hearts a home for her)