A perfect lie's to tell the truth,
a truth in confidence,
that, like what priests hear in a booth,
makes silence its defense.
When not aired out in full context,
it seems one way to go.
Your mark, by truth therein is hexed.
That's how we work the show.
A song, a play, a danse, a tale,
a narrative controlled,
is each, to us, another nail;
that driven true, we hold
the frame of what all men may see,
so, blind to all the rest,
we now command reality—
and that is for the best.
Unbridled truth's a wild stud,
a stallion come to mate—
his sons will rise up like a flood,
and none foresee his fate.
Tale Told 