Words are deeds passed between
Hands and hair
And lost demands
A detailed account would reveal
The most carefully guarded truth,
Wrapped in a beautiful lie
Hidden deep within a melting eye
Or a tear, or tomorrow
Words are heavy
And sticky down
Heavier I’d say than the sixth new moon
Or a snow globe spun round
Not even a hundred million sonnets
Hope to carve an imprint in my fate
That supple knife is held by his lame hand
The hand that wrote a single sound
That caused the day to wait
Knowing tomorrow was too late
Oh that a lie is the truth, the truth a lie
The air of a free man costly,
Were virtue a victory, defeat a sigh
I had breathed it once before
