Why must people lay waste to love   

And yet cry foul to hate?  

How can men practice their powerful will

And then give in to fate?

The nature of man may still be to kill

but who deserves it most?

A guest of a house who breaks the vase,

Or the unforgiving host?

Such questions we ask, we ask in passing,

To all the painted smiles.

Why can't mankind just truly be happy, 

And give up the act for a while?

I suppose living the lie, is lying about living.

But such is the way of the age.

My hope is that they open their eyes,

And escape the cage.

Til then, I'll watch  from far outside.

And watch them live the lives they lie.

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