Tell me, is it imperfection that you fear?
The pain and panic that tear us down;
The jealousy and spite that trash our souls;
The arrogance and hate that in the end
Will finish us all?

Tell me, is it lust that you long for?
The intoxicating fragrance of your lover's skin;
The deep dark liquid in their eyes;
The primal emotions that thrash within,
Exposing your desire as it lives and dies.

Tell me, is it peace that you need?
Something quiet to calm your rage;
Tranquillity to take over the tension;
Strong emotions that reveal your age
Are never something you wish to mention,
Even to yourself.

Tell me, what is it that you hope to gain and lose?
The beauty and security that you fought so hard for;
The power and authority that you so wrongfully obtained;
The state of grace that you are said to find
When the end is nigh and all else fades ...
Or the answer to the only thing that we can never be sure of?

Simple, blinding reality.