strange it seems and stranger still
that one can lie at one's own will
you overfill your wretched cup
with floods of words that don't add up
inserting truths to pick up slack
and all because you can't keep track

strange it seems and stranger still
that one can cry at one's own will
it burns your eyes and swells your cheek
you've engineered a new technique
another means toward artful deceit
but soon you'll accept your own defeat

strange it seems and stranger still
that one can die at one's own will
slip the noose tight 'round your throat
three minutes and that's all she wrote
three minutes to remiss your sin
with your last breath you lie again