Faulty

PROMISES are empty cups that never can be filled
No matter the emotions poured or good intentions willed

FOR we're all imperfect beings who fashion faulty dreams
If mere words could keep us happy, it'd be the perfect scheme
But words are broken vessels with false emotions attached
And they never have the right affect when desperately dispatched

A PROMISE is a truth that's born to grow up as a lie
It's the joy of a "hello" to set up the sorrow of "goodbye"

WE fashion cups in our image, corrupted to a "T"
Too vast, too small, with loophools; destined to remain empty

LIFE is the dust that settles on the rusted things we swore
It's there with all noble ideals we've chosen to ignore.