lie, marie.

the truth is but the truth,
to that, no argument can be made
and a lie, therefore, is nothing more
than the truth, a bit delayed

and ivy creeps
and grows in knots
and truth is buried deep
and then excuses of
tongues the loosest
induce the falsest sleep.

so lie, marie, lie.
give me permission to leave
give me your leave to go,
your crumbled words make me die.
marie, i’ll take your largest lie.

once you grew a garden
and it bloomed so lovely
but the lies that kept it living
revealed it to be ugly

you buried bottles of gin
prayed to the Marlboro Man
that they would bloom in sin
bleeding hearts in a tomato can
the truth hurts, and lies too
your truth is almost as ugly as you.

so lie, marie, lie.
give me permission to leave
give me your leave to go,
your crumbled words make me die.
marie, i’ll take your largest lie.

i care not to meet the saints
who falsely answer your prayers
and desires smeared with red paint
to signify the blood shed
from our lord in the sky,
and that, my dear, is the biggest lie.
had you really no clue?
what you see is what you do.

so lie, marie, lie.
give me permission to leave
give me your leave to go,
your crumbled words make me die.
marie, i’ll take your largest lie.
lie, marie, lie.
tell me the backwards truth.
wipe your tears, brighteyes,
her morals always were loose.
lie, marie! because your truth is nonexistent.
let your tongue not be resistant,
lay me in my grave,
bring me to your grace,
to words you play slave.

and lies are but the truth,
wrapped up in lace,
delightful little lies,
how decadent is our demise.