š Faces Without Boneš
Hypocrisy puts on such a holy show,
weāre meant to kneel and take it slow.
No wisdom mars its polished faceā
just borrowed light and empty graceā¦
how beautifully weāre fooled below.
So soft, so just, so neatly saidā
if you ignore the lies they spread.
Wisdom turned away in quiet disgust:
ālook how they gild rot and dustā¦ā
what a fine, respectable fraud instead.
They call coldness love, call greed āgood deedā,
expect us all to bow and plead.
They guard the light while snuffing it out,
twist every truth past any doubtā¦
such clever, pious work indeed.
But death wonāt bow to tone or crown,
it strips the paint and lets it fall down.
No grace remains, no heart, no toneā
only what was always known:
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