They want to preserve good men,
But not love them.
They'll fan their hands over their eyes,
That they might shield them from looking upon their naked promiscuity.
They'll shroud them in protective wear,
Until they're suffocating.
They want to preserve good men,
The way a wealthy man might surround himself with expensive things.
They must convince themselves these men be dull or blind, for why else pray tell would they be.
These seat themselves among those innocent loves, holding them in a light they refuse to see.
They want to preserve the good men,
The way they value antiquated artifacts.
They'll smile when they're in the room,
Then whisper behind their backs.
Confusion clouds them, where chaos flows...
They're breaking good men, for reasons no one knows
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