They talk.

They talk

and talk,

and talk,

AND TALK,

Until mine own voice of truth and reason is drowned 

By voices of lies and deception.

 

They believe.

They believe

The lies

The works of absolute fiction

But not me.

The voice of truth has been whipped, gagged: punishment for blasphemy. 

No ears to listen. All turn away.

 

It goes on.

It goes on 

And on

And on

SO LONG

That I begin to believe it too. I am no longer the voice of reason. I am mute.

There are only lies seethed from lips who know not any truth only the fiction

publicised to their ears.

 

I know why.

I know why

No ears will

Listen or even 

CONSIDER

The truth. Fiction is more appealing. Fiction is entertaining. Fiction can be molded and shaped into ludicracy.

It changes more often than the seasons or the hours of the day, so often that soon there is no way to ditinguish the fact from

The fiction and so what was once seperate is now "one and the same".

 

So it seems.

So it seems 

That no matter

How hard I 

FIGHT,

And how much I cry out "These are LIES!", my own voice which once spoke truth and reason is mute.

 

 

But I can.

But I can

and I will

Go on

Farther.

My voice is small, but it is truth. It is reason. My voice will seperate what what once two but i now one.

 

I shall not faulter.

I shall not faulter 

Under the bludgeoning

Lies and fiction

By lips of ignorance.

They hit hard. I bleed truth. I will go on. I will grow, faster than fiction can for a new shape. As I gow, I shed my skin. 

I shed layers of damage to reveal a layer of forgiveness. I now bleed truth and forgivness.

 

They can talk.

They can talk, 

And talk

And talk

AND TALK,

As much as their desceptive hearts desire. I know, and He knows. That is all I need to know.

No one else needs to know. My new skin will protect me from the bludgeonings of fictions's desceptive lips.

It heals faster than my older skin. I am ready. 

 

Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.