Somewhere in youth I strayed from truth.
And grew up to not have much couth.
The door bell rang the onus chime.
Snuck out the back to bide some time.
I wandered streets in every bar.
It's not a wonder I didn't get far.
There's many phases to the light.
And many choices, wrong and right.
The path is never cut and dried.
The mirror can always tell who lied.
Windows, doors and walls and ceiling.
Can keep the shadow from revealing.
The best that one can hope to do.
Is to not know shame when they are through.
Mistakes we make can be forgiven.
But the one inside needs to start liven'.