The sharpness of the truth

Is it a lie, that hurt the most.
Or maybe truth, that is at fault.
Is it the life, and every ghost.
Or maybe death, that make us halt.

It’s like a dance, it’s like a waltz.
That make us fly, and make us fall.
It’s like a padlock, and all the vaults.
That we have made, behind a wall.

The pain of life, make death so tempting.
That every second is lived so painly.
Don’t be afraid of this comedy.
Without an end, there’s no meaning.

Si vous souhaitez partager ce contenu :