Nocturne

Tell me all things false are true,

Bitter sweet, that fools are wise;

I will not doubt nor question you;

I am in a mood for lies.

Tell me all things ill turn good;

Thew and sinew will be stronger

Thriving on the deadly food

Life proffers for their hunger.

Paint love lovely, if you will;

Be crafty, sly, deceptive;

Here is fertile land to till,

Sun-seeking, rain-receptive.

Hold my hand and lie to me;

I will not ask you How nor Why;

I see death drawing nigh to me

Out of the corner of my eye.