Measure all the hearts

and the sacred words

carefully, carefully

See which way the scale tips.

 

Trapped and bound

by the shifting weights,

we live inside our own

imagination filled with hypocrisy.

 

To kill a deer,

one must paint the deer red.

So that when you pierce its heart

with your black arrow,

you are the one who bled.

The hawk cries out at this injustice,

so that as the deer died,

at least it died justified.

 

The scale tips.

 

To convict a demon,

you need not say words.

The halo forms on your head,

Paint your wings white,

With their innocent souls.

Too much words, and the demon

will twist them with his ugly tongue.

 

The scale tips.

 

Words are made of gold paint

and lips are made of silver.

Hearts are black

and pumped red with blood.

The scale, oh, the scale,

will one day

return to balance.