Sing to me a song to tarry.
A song that will soothe any clime.
Sing to me and make merry.
For the truth knows no bounds nor dime.
These words I write are divine.
This which I sing is the truth.
Why detest that ego of mine?
Remember I am but a youth.
Truth is in the heart's depth imprisoned.
So cold it sits with a worrying face.
How long have you about this reasoned?
Why do you fall out of place?
The world has with evil mingled..
Consciences have been buried for long.
True words have for long been mishandled.
This is why I write this song.
What then does the truth mean?
I have lingered long upon this choice.
It is what society has not yet seen.
It is nothing but that inner voice.
Which is silent and ignored.
It is that word, so bitter sweet and absurd.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Indeed, truth is absurd. A concept. Subjective. Nicly written, Pius. Peace