Every triumph that we forge
And every evil that we lay
Are etched on the quilt of reality
Brought out to the light of day.

There is always a witness,
Even if it's you.
Walls are a sign of something hidden,
Something we wish to be out of view.
But our masonry is shoddy,
Our archers ill prepared.
The walls will fall transparent
As hollow as our flaws that all are aired.

Your cards are something that I desperately would like to fix
But my fingers are terribly stupid with those witty kinds of tricks

If I could, I would move the conceited constellations by degrees
After re-tossing all your bewitched leaves from your stupid teas

And I don’t know whether God just weighted your dice for kicks
But I wish I could be an ill sport and pick for you a face of any six

Because, although I can only see nonsense when you grin about your Belief,
It has moulded you into something perfect
and you deserve all there is of any relief.