How long have you let others
Tell you lies to your face?
How often have you allowed
Some twisted soul to resurrect old bones?
Those bones belong in the grave.
I cannot look at you
And tell you it’s alright.
I cannot say to you time
Hasn’t slipped through the cracks.
The condition of one’s heart,
That is where truth resides.
The condition of one’s heart
Is something to lament
And something to confide.