To know is to demean
And the truth is so raw, it's clean
To see it with a crest or plume,
Is to know it is inauthentic
The real thing has only vapors, fumes
And to always breathe the truth
Will only end your life early
Or leave you damned just the same
Each direction has a keyhole
For which a key was never made
They were created just for looking
A way to peer at the light within
Welcoming the voyeurs
But giving them the smallest view