If it wasn’t for the past where would we be?
If it wasn’t for the present, what use a past?
Every memory enshrined on a pedestal
A fraction of truth, a construed fiction
Whispers among dead leaves of spring
Failures romanticized for effect
Schemes and betrayals all neatly piled
A closet full of wasteful negligence
Covered over by a sheen of denial
The cross, the thorns, the spectacle
Filled to the brim with tales of bravery
Of evil expunged by righteous appraise
While misery still spreads pandemonium
Echoed warnings to mend our ways
All for nothing or nothing for all