Come close. I'll hand you something good to keep. No weight to it. A tune. You carry it low. Hum it under a man while he swears he's telling true, and the wrong in him rings till the talk falls away. Nobody lies to you now without you knowing. You walk in anywhere and the low note finds the lie. Learn the spell. I'll teach you slow. Carry the low note. You'll always know. No lie rings true to you again. Learn the spell, and sing it low. By the second week it hums before you ask it. A friend slides your cup back, says forget it, it was nothing. You hum the low note once, just once, to be sure, and the bend lifts out of "nothing" before she finishes the word. And it has never once been wrong. That is the sweet part. Hum it again. Learn the spell. I'll teach you slow. Carry the low note. You'll always know. No lie rings true to you again. Learn the spell, and sing it low. By the next month you don't hum it. It hums itself. It runs the low note under every gift before it's opened. And the true ones ring the same as all the false ones now, a little flat, a little off. You can't tell which is which. Learn the spell. I'll teach you slow. Carry the low note. You'll always know. No lie rings true to you again. Learn the spell, and sing it low. Last night I told her, plain, no tune at all, and the low note ran underneath before I reached the end. The one that rings for liars. It rang for me. I said it twice more. Could not make it ring true. Learn the spell. It teaches you slow. Carry the low note. Now you'll always know. And nothing rings true to you again. Learn the spell. You're singing it low.
