Where do you find the witches hut?

Is it in the forest, surrounded by mud

Or in the jungle, where monsters reside

As they will never take your side?

Where do you find a good man's love?

Flying above your our heads in a shape of a dove?

Hidden in a trophy he has earned,

Or in the wooden chest that he left to be burned?

How do you consume his soul?

Do you drink it from a bowl

As the tortured man cries,

Shouting out of your demise?

These are questions you needn't answer,

Because honesty is held for ransom,

In our aching hearts that we dress up,

Making other people cover up

With shame, because we are unwilling to listen

To their pleas, guilt, and their reason.

We portray ourselves as the best.

Always aiming to ace that test

That is not important or won't affect

Our lives, but it will help you join a sect,

Which teaches you to despise what they are.

Even though you are no better, you are what they are:

Human.