The truth is like a blanket in the dark
We feel the soft cotton on our skin, it
shields us from the cold, tricks us into believing
That the night is warm.
Perhaps the pagan gods and myths are
Not so terribly far from reality;
For we say that we now know the truth -
But what if the truth is but an artful lie?
We could reenact the bloody battles of the ancients
And perhaps the corpses on the ground are just an illusion
Hell within, hell without;
Hell is what the screams' about.
If I jump into a sea and cease breathing,
Will I wake up and find
That it was all a dream?
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