What's been lost cannot be found
though it may lurk in plain sight
when the tumble down the hill
results in grace torn to shreds
we're all human in the end
these digressions are the norm
seeking wounds will only end
with a fall to deepest pits

it's the freak that stands above
without the skeletons duly hid
those slips of will in anger's course
or lust embraced instead of trust
pity their soul until the time
their turn is taken to devolve
because the low road calls to all
the quick drop from Heaven's peak

it's all fair in love and war
we tell ourselves as bullets fly
indiscretion met with same
indignation through carnal strife
mix the two with sure knowledge
there are no saints in the end
only wounded of pained degrees
seeking payback none shall have

sympathy will cut both ways
when the mud covers all
there are no winners in the end
even the Devil pities men
it's no wonder there are few
with white wings of angel kin
standing on hills above the rest
the high ground few will retain.