Printeverything is a lie; what is a lie?
what can be excused; what must be forgotten?
when the blood is on your hands
the moment you say you’re innocent
do you blame, or just deny? proclaim
you’re just one of the misunderstood
raise an army to fall upon shame
conquer all that is love; what is love?

nothing is true; what is truth?
the stub of a toe; the stab of a broken heart?
when nothing could be further from the truth
do you stand behind it, walk all over it,

or just pretend it’s always been that way?
when you stand alone in a crowd
wearing your bomber’s vest
do you say, this is for love; what is love?

everyone has their opinion; there are no facts
erase each ugly moment, the loss of time will go
unnoticed; the heart is a contagion, release this feeling
as you clean the blood stains from your sheets
imprison the sympathetic, because they’ll
be the first to go; when you storm the temple
remember to sing your song as you carry your torch
does anyone really know what love is; what is love?

poem and type illustration by Ward Maxwell