Lips of fire, face of truth
What is everyone looking at?
A humble truth
Something mysterious yet so serene
A broken and lost forgotten dream
And all of a sudden the creator came
To create change, quiet, quiet, quiet
In the dark as she switches on the light
And pores out her heart behind the curtains on an empty stage
No need for an applause because what she expresses inside
Is much more worthy than any material prize
There’s a prize that the creator gave now this confidence you seem to see
Is nothing more than history of passion
Don’t mix her love for ego there’s no ego where love exist
Love and compassion is a free gift
Until the sunglasses come of the soul
She will run and let everybody know
That the creator drew up a plan
It may not be what she wanted, but she will shout ‘this is where I am’
And come judgment time he may ask, did you tell the truth?
And whilst the physical covers many shades the heart never tells lies or the bones will decay
And if so she fakes it she will only fail in the end
So what’s the point of being a broken pen in the hands of our creator.