Excuses make the world go round
turning circle of dubious lies -
didn't do it , wasn't there ,
couldn't get up , didn't care.
Can't afford it , don't want to go ,
the real truth is hard to know ;
clouds obscure the hidden word
and muffle voices that could be heard.
Perhaps a parallel universe
stores each unsaid word and spoken curse ,
old excuses crawl there to die
every time we tell a lie .
On a hill in this other land
there's a pile of unused plans ;
maybe a bonfire of untold names ,
written falsehoods and mental games
whose match of doubt ignites the flames.
In this place grow giant trees
forged cheques are their leaves ,
alibis the woods do roam ,
and the grass is greener than at home .
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