it is, by far, our greatest desire
to live and die by a rule of fire,
to love all of our hurting foes
and ease all their restless woes.
how grand our names shall be
if our goodness others can see,
if we fail to commit a mistake
our wickedness will never wake.
worry not that weary heart,
it might never be torn apart,
it can not withstand danger
nor the love of a caring stranger.
lest we speak of distant lands,
death is carried by sparking sands,
death is a void we need not fear
for someday we'll call it dear.
empty promises they have made,
but then they ran and never paid,
but it is no matter we pretend
while we curse that vile friend.
how we like the puppet girl
and her legs that twist and twirl,
and her voice calling by name
doesn't feel at all like shame.
may our lives be full and long
while the mask is never wrong,
while we stand above them all
on the edge of a paper thin wall.