All those smiles,
All that pretence;
Comes to a stand when thee
Sees what shall hold convergence.
Thee isn’t consummate,
He is foundered, broken.
And all things tenable are overt,
Be that as it may, all there is,
Is it when things are louche,
That we perceive the veraciousness?
Or is it all those things we fail
To concede? Heedless
Are the words I proclaim.
Discreet, indiscreet is not what I ask;
As all things tenable are overt,
Be that as it may, predestination,
It’s not the hues and cries,
Nor is it the lies of life,
Which vehement the deluge of rain;
Nor the fabrications of truth that knife
Who thee is from within;
It really is the enigma of our nirvana.
A fib is all things tenable are overt,
Be that as it may, our soul,