What is this thing called honor?
Is it not rooted deep in trust?
Or was it merely just a concept:
Through generations turned to dust?
Why was it held so high?
Where none could reach if spirit’s weak.
Held only where the pure in heart,
Could find if they would seek.
Why do people who hold it dear
Seem so out of place?
Everywhere they’re treated harshly
And seem to vanish without a trace.
The deceitful, however, will regard
Those with honor with disgrace,
But seem to know without a doubt
That they’re the ones out of place.