There were those that told stories, ones with dignity. They were supposed heralds for the truth, but they changed their tune. These things were made to consume, I only heard what they wanted me to. Told a lie enough times that it became truth. We were tricked into thinking there were monsters outside, but it was under the bed where they did reside. When we finally found them it was far too late, cause the damage was done and my head it was never the same. Selective hearing of the worst kind, I don't have power over my own mind. Pawns in place to play the game and rewrite history. These things were taking place to save face, and push a gruesome agenda. Telling half-truths and using you, locked in a cage and told when to sing. It's the ones that you trust, you let in the door, inside of your home, that change you, they change you. They get in your head and fill it with doubt, but you can try and twist words, mockingbird, my eyes are open now