There is the woman and then there is your impression of her
There is her face and then there is your memory of it
And which is better? art or nature?
Truth or fiction? honesty or sweet pretty lies?
There is music, and then there is your careful study of it
There is your love and then there is your love poetry
And which is better? truth or fiction?
Science or religion? honesty or sweet pretty lies?
I'll restore your pride through my humility
I'll restore your beauty through my blindness
I'll grant you authority through my obedience
It doesn't matter who you are
Because what is in my mind is stronger than what is
There is what happens and then there are history books
There are events and then there is the nightly news
And which is better? myth or confusion?
Fact or invention? reality or sweet pretty lies?
There is the woman and then there is her biography
There are her actions and then there are her charming stories
And which is better? faith or despair?
Heros or disappointments? the sad truth or the uplifting mythology?
Your picture's faded, your grave untended
I can't recall your voice or what you said
Yet your sainthood increases the longer you're dead
It doesn't matter what you've done
My invention of you will last longer than your flaws
The subject of this portrait has quit the scene
This account is third-hand, based on a book
By a narrator who can't be trusted
So then what do we believe?
When the truth is as elusive as it is irrelevant?