The Lie

The Lie Has this candle lit vandal come tearing its lament To augment such weary marches of sorrow All weeping configured the fingers of fate To turn molded clay to the empty vessel of a soul Heartless gold plated grinning reminder Of shattered silk doors of sin Thrown wide to deceitful imperious walls Where scratched each breath of hope and denied the softest touch Foul echo of triumph born by flightless wings Its truce delivered on the drunken mutterings of fools Nailed in their fickle easy clamouring For tasteless gilded shells and inconsequent meaning By mediocrity dazzled in consummate tears So readily bloated fall in their thick passages of treasure Broken amidst perfumery and powders wasteland of plastic Triumphant beguiling of salvation The perceiving vista procured to grand a compromise Belittled in the preference of trash Agreeing on indistinct monuments And shunned the solitary deliverance of truth Inescapable nondescript insipid vandals Bemoaning their wretched use And defiled by fate their heartless whit To ignorance is made consummate All proposal of the innocent Gathered to worshipful psalms On a blankets bland demand of deceit