What do I do when I am faced with a conviction of my own fiction?
What would I be if it were not to be mine what is to be my own
The wings would not fly the clouds would not cry
The rivers would be dry and the wind would not sigh
Everything to be in the same position going around its axis
Rotates into a mystery of actions seldom thought often acted
Sudden revelations of my dreams when the meanings come true
Stand by me my shadows of beautiful emotions
A face smeared with different cuts of different lies
The picture is hard to tell whether it is you or is it I
There is yet no confusion of my position till I am here
Seems to crawl out of my sea of desire a slow burning fire
I take a step toward the end to suffice I do not pretend
When the loath and the lust combined makes so much
The money flows so smooth like homemade booze
In every eye there is dedication to defy the truthful reason
The fruit is ripe and ready to be eaten another poison another day
In this battle of mirrors does not matter who wins
