"What is the truth?" you asked me on the hill. "It is not all you can see" I said, "It is was you cannot face in mirrors" "Horse feathers," you replied, You lie I can face them, dead"
"You see our face, you may not see your eyes, truth us was you whisper, not what you say: "Sure, trut be shouted to hear not-lies" "Seek truth within or you will rue the day."
At this we tumbled down the waiting hill until we came upon a waiting stream. "Is this truth?" you ask. "No, this is will" "What is the difference between, truth and will gleaned?"
"There are no answers, only in questions shall your inquiries find exhaustion."