we turn the calendar

we turn the calendar to the last page
the year is ending with its power of pain
not wholly cleansed by the december rain

so much the wise and witty could not gauge
nor those who are too proud to bear the stain
we turn the calendar to the last page

our tears speak sorrow while our minds speak rage
we would not face this mass of lies again
and with the nightfall not a thing stays plain
we turn the calendar to the last page