Listen To the Lies

Wrestling with the grave predisposition,

Clinging to a trusting nature,

Wanting desperately to find

A simple something to believe.

 

Hoping that the fangs have been retracted,

Waiting silently in shadows til

The shackles turn to butter,

Yearning for a fast reprieve.

 

Walk into the den of fire and lions,

Leave your weapons at the doorstep,

Slide the deadbolt from the outside,

Blindfold covering your eyes.

 

Judgment takes a permanent vacation,

Blinded by the situation.

Pavlov’s pet in its creation

As you listen to the lies.

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