Hand Me No Secrets
By Linda A. Copp

Hand me no secrets,
no bent, tainted spoons.
Don't give me your stories,
or broken balloons.

And don't lay your lies on
so thick I can't breathe,
For the truth's but one part of
the lies that you leave.

Hey, don't call me buddy, pal,
I'm not your friend.
And, don't hand me your prayers,
glass, grass or Amen.

Cause I've been a listenin'
and lookin' at you
And I heard your gossip,
saw your crippled act, too!

Hand me no secrets,
no, strawberry moons.
Don't lend me your glasses,
your nickels or tunes.

And don't try to hang me
for the way that you've hung.
Like a spider at home with
the things that he's done.

Caught in the fine lines
of the truths and his lie
Don't, hang me up,
Hey, don't even try!

Cause I see and you see
and the blind look away.
Well, you shake my hand fiercely,
you smile and you pray,
And then tell my brother
some lie that you've heard,
Some script that you've colored,
some fact that you've blurred.

Cutting the floor from beneath my boots, me.
And dulling their eyes
with your lies and not me.
Stories, Stories, Liar, Amen,
You can call yourself, Christian,
But, so was Judas, My friend.

By Linda A. Copp
© June 20, 1971