A fog of fibers and polarized crystals
admits what we ask: the truth, no more.
Our lies are held on false pretenses
leaving our meanings to imagination
I try to reach for a meaningful phrase
I grasp, but meaning is sifted through
my fingers, left with longing clutch
to my own inferiority's complexity
Our music plays from different shores
but just too far for harmony.
For now, we live behind the veil
and when we speak, I'm born again.