In shadows where the truth is scarce,
A liar weaves a tale so fine,
With words that seem to gently dance,
Yet mask the rot beneath the line.
Their smiles, a polished, practiced art,
Deceitful eyes that never weep,
They play the role, they know by heart,
And in their lies, they deeply seep.
Promises like morning dew,
That vanish when the sun appears,
These liars craft whatâs never true,
And prey upon our deepest fears.
Yet truth, though hidden, finds a way,
To pierce the veil of false charade,
For lies, like night, will turn to day,
And liars, in their web, will fade.