A lie can be as beautiful as a freshly cut rose
Beautiful and full of appeal
But after Some time the petals once so full color begin to fade...
The rose begins to wilt
And so you begin to ask questions
Suddenly things don't make sense
Suddenly it isn't as beautiful anymore
And so, as with time all things die.
The rose starts to decay
And that's when you begin to say:
You want the truth.
Because the lie holds no beauty and you've come to accept it as it is
And so soon the truth is reveal