In the grand circus of truths, the lies perform acrobatics.
Secrets rest, only to wake when the moon yawns.
Shadows dressed in silk, dance while we sleep.
Crooked smiles whisper... whisper... whisper.
The truth could be an elephant, but it's a mouse in the room.
Irony wears a crown, satirical and grand.
Lies are the bedfellows of restless dreams.
And we repose... we repose... we repose.