Unknown (Copout)

The pages we read
Seem to pass as blunt
And fail to give us
The mirrored edge we need

Who's side is at fault?
Isn't she free
To know that we're all
Placed in hands made of glass?

But we're not as free
Like how the books
Said we're all slaves
To the one and true right thing

Here displayed is amnesty
To the point where my face falls
And the carpet soaks
With my honest eyes