and if you let me, I'll do it again...
just shut the door...
you're standing right in front of it...
There are no white lies...
only misleadings...
could you survive the proof?...
with a spoonful of truth...
I doubt you would...
And when we're alone, now it would seem...
the only exit is this pantomime routine...
rehearsed ad nauseam...
if the feeling becomes a disappointment...
serve me up again in this karmic annulment...
Dancing the waltz of tattered cloth...
beneath the silent sunless afternoon...
create diversions, and I'll make up excuses...
take this innocence hostage, the others can be muses...
But they won't dance...
they will not tolerate...
they carry the burden to their early grave decision...
(pic by *betenoir* )
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