Poema composto na mesma estética de Edgar Allan Poe.
The Lies
Straight ahead, the house burns
As burning dreams, of thousand suns
If it’s real or art, either virulent
Shines apart, quotes what we meant
Answers we ask, doubts we look for
Spreads warm, until we look for
The seasons we pray, for evermore
Laughing, the demon chooses the pain
Cruelty, sarcasm, our choice the main
Under the moon when pray, we still cry
Under the roof when say, we still die
A miracle, a saint, we look for
A god or faith, we look for
Choosing the dark, or even more
Bleeding, knocking on darkness ears
The dawn, we curse through years
Still punching the wall, quoting screams
Until it dies, mistakes we call dreams
Was wrong, but still looks for
You died, but still look for
Still will do, for evermore
Crashed, your precious care
That you own, desire, you dare
Crashed, in thousands pieces of sand
Composed, tight in your hand
But still blind, for it you look for
Sadly the saint being, you still look for
Won’t stop, nevermore
Raging the fires, we pray
The curses, the lines, we say
The lies, the deaths, we see
But truth, and life, won’t stop to be
Because a miracle, we still look for
For invisible flowers, we still look for
And shall smile, nevermore
But the rainbow out the night still shines
All the music, poems, all the kinds
Will through the ages, smile once more
Touching wises, their mind and core
For the reason, we still look for
Until far more lies, you still look for
And shall find out, nevermore
