Battered whispers of fake truths
Snarl through innocent ears And bend unwilling hearts. It's a song as sweet as poison And bitter as glass eyes.
The postman boy
Has gotten weary of the stories told Wrongly by dear Oblivia on the yards Every morning. The postman boy comes for The warm-hearted letters of distance sons But on his hands are letters of slander and coalition he did not fathom.
I am the wolf
hidden in their skin. I will never be them. I will never fit in. And the sheep speak slander. Their words are venom. Driving me towards my life as a phantom. And it's sick That we carry such thunder. When in all that I wanted I was never a wonder. And to eyes that see me, to the eyes that look over I still go unnoticed As easily as the four leaf clover.
"Slinging slander in sheer desperation"
"Daring to cast damnation with no deliberation" You level our lives with lies while looking us in our eyes, in fear of finding your own demise. "We suffer immolation upon the stake" So bold as to render us cold with tales and fallacies you have told in an attempt to sell sinful lies you want sold. "Berated by blasphemy from a soul so fake"** We stand and burn in the flames of a world where we're rendered depraved by your whispers so grave. We fall to our knees in the dirt while the stones you cast hurt us with the accusations you assert.
— The End —