Dead End

If it gives no pride
And you have to hide
Truth you brush aside
Thus you see the end

Its nothing on to hold
Sure, no soul is told
If asked you pretend
Thus, smells a dead end

To reality you are blind
And the lies you defend
Faint evidence you depend
Your defense nothing bold

You ignore the turn of tide
By false paths you abide
Sound conscience disregard
Your only home in the wild

The shameful sycamore descend
Alight the abyss bound ride
A rock tray to empty your head
The trophy of chasing the wind