Oh, bitter truth, Oh, cold unyielding truth,
That drives and goads me into honesty;
No longer now, indeed, am I a child,
But grown into the ways of upright men.
I know my future bright and clear and strong,
And without stain; with honor held aloft,
And yet, somehow, I feel that I must die
Of weariness before another dawn.
For in my utter honesty, sometimes,
Oh, how I yearn to rest, with careless shrug
Upon the sweet soft bosom of hypocrisy;
To slumber peacefully to lullabies
All false, I know... of beauty and of love!