Every believer has it rhyming each day—of truth that will never be and songs that are just too beautiful to be true. Someone once said...

Three after four on the untimely clock—your heart throbs and the sheets melt. It is dimly lit outside and the moon is just about to sink...

This life, or a beautiful lie in each preposterous act—those that they see as morality and if there is anything left here, dust of lies...