Pain speaks truth, so does love.
Singers raise their voice above.
Not only to converse, but to express,
a sleeping beauty in distress.
A diamond under modest flesh, eyes and breath.
Given out with passion, to eyes ears and those at breast.
To flame thought from its shine, weather mine and without fine.

Liars sing too, in choirs of deceit and malady.
Their tenors to their sopranos mundane.
So they flee to song in order to fabricate glee.
They pile notes beneath their feet, to rise above the fleet.
They’ll just as soon pile their fellow members,
as they would the audience below them.
At whatever cost it takes to fly, they’ll pay.

Flight however is true, and eventually lies fall.
Wings built of plastic are sure not the call.
Reparations will be met at the terminal.
For those who lied above all.
But even on the ground, they’ll sing.
They believe their lies so deeply,
their contrived melodies are reality.
If you don’t like their composure, then dip your ear’s shoulder.
But find medical consolation, if deception and lies bring you anything but butterflies.