And why would it be, that the mere lie stain

Is a crimson colour, the colour of pain?

Like a red sky at dawn, it is impending doom,

It sneers and smiles, behind, will it loom.

You saunter aimlessly and idly, what an arduous task,

Slowly and slowly, you pull out a flask,

You fill it to brim, with poison and lies,

You survive all the pain, but with a mental demise,

And the same colour of fire, will burn all your past,

But the crimes you have committed, will perpetuate and last,

Telling yourself, that you sacrificed to save,

Yet, all is futile, as a new life you crave,

But your words remain, because they are all wrong,

Like a rhapsody of misery, they stretch out, so long,

Spinning, and spinning, the witch will weave and embed,

And those are the consequences, of such a colour as red.