A lilly pure, withering
A loving pure, staining
A blossom lost, petaling
A moment's truth, speaking
Weeding the way in between, whispering
Pain lost yet found, quickening
Expectations unrealized and impractical
Hence exposed the very edge we hold
Hand in hand in disgust
That's the truthsayer's speaking
Think not that the reality desposed
Karma is here and now
Before and after, chasing us down
An angel's wings clipped
What appreances offer are talents lost
Never again breath the words for a liar's truth is still a liar's lot
Birds of a feath may flock
Flock us not for
In dark I truely am white, in white you truely are stained
In shame I am truely of pride, in pride you truely are deprived
My angel's wings are given by God, yours given by a name you should have not
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