You are spinning tales,
So that the truth isn't found,
Around and around the details,
Until it's a familiar sound.
Come one or come all,
See this lair run his tongue,
Until his falter is his fall,
And at his neck he is strung.
Whirling around such a girl,
Is the lies she cannot help but create,
In every word she will shape this world,
Until a white room is her fate.
So foul was the deed commited,
A choice needed to be made in a second,
The one who did it seemed conflicted,
Then they saw what truth would have reckoned.
Last of the day.