The truth slides in so smooth,
No cracks on its edges, no ruse.
It's an outstretched hand waiting to be used,
But my fingertips falter to the truth.
If I found out my prophecy,
Will I have found my truth?
Or will I have abused destiny,
By foreseeing the blood before the bruise?
On the other hand,
Even Gods are stung by mortal fire,
And string of lies can sound like a lyre.
So if divinity wants to keep meaning hidden,
Why is it something I should acquire?
So truthless, so disdained,
Nothing is right or wrong, it's almost insane.
But if it's true to you, it could be true to me,
And if my purpose runs loose, it would flee
to the nearest arms of the meek.
So, if it's my responsibility, it belongs to me,
And that has been my greatest epiphany.