To love, to live—
No more—and through our love but slave to death;
A promise, time has always kept,
Provokes the love, we’ve grown to hate,
For that which keeps us living.

To live, to lust—
The heart—at heart, is envy driven.
A curse, misfortune’s poison,
Invokes, through blind desire, the endless need,
For all such things,
Which we were never given.

To lust, to lie—
In search—for truth, we never hoped to find.
A wish, the poor man’s hope,
Evokes what will, akin the soul, remains.
We search to watch ourselves at loss,
When answers lie within the mind.

To lie, to live—
In death—for what greater lie than to live.
Hope, the sinners light at dawn,
Reminds us of the hidden gifts,
We’ve grown, at stake of death, in life,
And now have only left to give.

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