Oh Beautiful Lie, why can't you be true?
The wonders and horrors I would have done for you.
Do you have a name or a face?
Are you an idea or a place?
Are you faith that you can feel?
Are you really just words from a tongue like an eel?
Be thee Love, left in the heart to rot?
Are you a man's grail, never found, always sought?
Perhaps you're the one I point to, shouldering the blame?
Do I invoke you just to hide my shame?
Are you the place I go when I die?
You have to be true, you beautiful lie.
I know what you are, I've seen where you sleep.
You lay your head in the hearts of politicians who weep.
You are the money spent when the vain are not young.
You are the drug when a man's last song is sung.
You are the whore, the money, and the first corpse fly.
But how can we stay mad at our beautiful lie?
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