My face is no longer my own.
My heart beats every moment with sorrow.
No matter how many lies you tell I see straight through.
You think only of vanity a petty human obsession, I forgot about the real me.
I'm not broken yet.
Life is only a dream of an apparent overseer, but who am I to question?
Shall I send my complaints to heaven or hell?
Can anyone even prove someone is there or is it blind faith?
Can anyone see him honestly?
My name is no religion and this is what I see.
Alas is it human nature that we need a god to look to?
And how come the written hand of God is missing pieces?
Why is it that the high figures wear lies like robes?
I tell you they know something we don't.
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