The torch is passed
The alter is set
The circle is drawn around the cast
Who were reduced to a silhouette.
The scene is pagan,
It suits the coward
Who fancy a gush of goodness
Would spring out of delirium.

Inclinations, insinuations and demonstrations
Are all worthless;
A speck of dust outstrips their sham preciousness.
This is a solid wisdom not a wild guess!
FACTS are the genuine supernatural powers
That build dreams as tall as towers.
Liars’ donations are false reveries and broken promises,
They are the well-known potions of madness.
Sweet ends are in tunnels holding signals
Unlike the liars’ incessant stigmas.

Pits of liars are the evil dens,
That lure the headless dense.
Flee,
Looking back is harmful
So is shrugging at their talk;
Dear, they would never be your folk.
Flee before it is too late,
Believe your instincts;
Their path has ever proved apocalyptic.
If you are that stubborn incorrigible smug
You’ll soon be a victim of a humbug
Whose shoulders would seem the oasis of rest
And would make you believe that you’re the best.