• To fly, blue skies, we drift to memories
    Bastardize them until they fit our dreams
    And hide away from all our fallacies
    Then look at life and wonder what it means

    We speculate our way around the truth
    Although to truth we are its harriers
    And our speculation appears uncouth
    As we blindly become lies couriers

    I listen as people tell their stories
    Embellish them with all their own design
    Augment them with their lies just as they please
    And truth becomes something quite clandestine

    My half-truths and I at least aren’t lies
    The truth within its ambiguity
    Living a silhouette, not a disguise
    And all to fit within congruity