Withholding Equal Morals

Those hands playing with the numbers
Round in circles and the black and white lines
Dreams stand, steal memories and yet they are only shades and tints
The fingers point forward but I know my innocence isn't pure
As if denial could muffle the screams, perhaps the treble sends its intentions anyway
Like trying to catch your breath as if the boogie man is just your imagination
Pretending the covers over your head keeps you hidden, acting like you had control
What illusion is this, "the human conundrum?" Things just are the way they are? I don't think so.
Stop trying to strip the responsibility out of your hands

Let's call it what it is--It is a withholding of truth, as if its omission kept you moral
No, it is a struggle to stuff it in a "box" hoping that its waters never surface
This is what you call honesty? Being chained to a door, demanding that its departure never unseals from its molding
Smile, so you can keep the façade "and the truth shall set you free"