The happy faces is what we see
But underneath lies a truth so grim,
For tresses of darkness engulf it all,
The faint smile of life lays stark, in a hole.
They come out of nowhere and pull you in,
They make you rejuvenate on chords of sin.
Wicked the religion, that’s for the beautiful thugs;
They weave gauge and cut, that’s their pleasure drug.
They sting the strong, they kiss the weak
For life is a game and that’s all they seek.
You walk and chatter, you dream, you frown,
‘Cause these puppeteers make you dance like a clown.
Clotho spins her spindle glazed,
Sloven Lachesis has the measuring blade,
Atropos slits the golden thread,
And the soul is taken to Hades’s gate.
Just a marionette for the time being-
Waiting for the flicker in candle of wit
Or to render some tremendous feat
And Fates will make you their favourite keep.