Father Damned

comforting truths, of subtle soft winds apple blossoms fell, gentle sweet sin, the summer birds flew, they lite up the sky they season the dark, all timid and shy, sometimes I think, I wish it were real, I wish not to wake, I wish I could heal, he is not real, for the weary must stray, cold with a chill, think of it as you may, man has lost his way, for truth is but frail, as tainted as the flesh from the rust of a nail, pull back the veil, soon you will tell, for the teacher of man is the father of hell.