Truth is Not Yet

I’m not the song I think I thought I heard
The tune is not my life; I will not sing
Each verse concludes with some pathetic word
That takes its meaning from intents I bring
I choose the words you choose to hear me use
Poetic dust with which I try to build
A monument that seeks eternal views
As if its paltry bricks could not be killed
But when it all comes crashing to the ground
I watch the dust return to desert lands
They’re only words that wait until they’re found
Come dig until they fill your hollow hands.
Enough of me and words, let’s talk of you
Oh right, we talk with words. No words are true.