"Just try," they said,

"You'll be great."

Lies.

Appealing to the head,

less so to fate.

Lies. 

 

"Hard work," they promised,

"That's the key."

Lies. 

The serpant hissed, 

To poor Eve, his plea. 

Lies. 

 

"Forgive," they prompted,

"Forgive and forget."

Lies. 

Once I've plummeted,

There's nought to lament. 

Lies. 

 

False. Fake. All wrong. 

This is no optomistic song. 

Lie to me, offer me solice:

Golden chalice, 

Golden fleece, 

Golden peace. 

It's no good. 

 

They say what they would.

What they could.

What they should.

All those lies. 

It's no good.