When my young lover swears she tells the truth.
O course I believe her; although I know she lies.
I know she does thinks me such a fool.
Just ignorant of the worlds false logic.
She thinks so vainly of me so unwise.
Although she knows I am past my prime.
Simply, I do not care about her false tongue.
Because on both sides the truth is suppressed.
But never will she say she lies a plenty.
And of course, I will never say I am old.
You see, loves best habit is it's trust.
And love loves not to tell years told.
So I lie to my love and she to me.
And our faults by lies, flatter be.