The board is set at birth, dices roll 

the aim is never to win.

Only to play and remain standing

the game is to get free.

A curse to the past, 

A hymn to the present

The game never stops 

Until the dead end.

There’s the truth and the lies

the game, it knows them all

we sit with them, break bread

and we hear them breathe

humming baul tunes,

strumming on a guitar,

crooning sad refrains

and accusatory silence.

Truth and lies have to be dealt with

you neither win nor lose the game

but Grief retreats to a dank alley, 

blowing smoke from a Cuban cigar.