Truth

‘I feel it’s right’, ‘I feel it’s wrong’;

I feel like going and writing a song

About how feelings don’t make things true,

No matter how dear they are to you.

 

Your mate told you over a drink

But did you ever just stop and think?

I mean think hard: take some time,

Work on your beliefs like I’ve worked on mine.

 

How can this be wrong? What’s the data?

Repetition doesn’t make things right:

Don’t blindly join the throng; who’s the creator?

Is this just a mental parasite?

 

If you won’t question yourself I will,

And to be publicly wrong is a bitter pill;

Red or blue best take it in private,

Far away from a judging climate.

So don’t erupt angrily

If falsehoods don’t entangle me:

I prefer to behave rationally.

 

Are my opinions core to my identity,

And does that stop you questioning me?

If who you are is what you believe

You still don’t deserve any reprieve.

Link self and opinion, that’s your choice,

But don’t try silencing my voice

By endlessly citing your identity

As if it’s worth more than my integrity.

If being wrong is unacceptable

Then to reason you’re unsusceptible

And, for you, truth imperceptible.

 

You hide in your cell of certainty

Howling to the world “Look I’m free”.

Your approach to debate is to preach a sermon

And if we don’t convert then you call us vermin.

Fresh facts and ideas cannot break through;

Everything you hear you misconstrue.

 

I know it’s fun to feel like a rebel,

But not at the cost of the views you peddle.

You feel in control; certain and safe,

Sealed in tight in your own headspace,

Preferring to ignore a fallacy

Than have it puncture your fantasy.

 

 

Your mate told you over a drink

But did you ever just stop and think?

I mean think hard: take some time,

Work on your beliefs like I’ve worked on mine.

 

Fortify your mind

Against the torrent of trash

That’s been designed

To spread like a rash.

Ponder whether you’ve been infected

Before you spew your horrid invective.

 

If you prefer three-word mantras

Over careful considered analysis

Then to our masters you’re a blank canvas

To be painted with political paralysis.

 

What you call facts I call lies;

Your self-righteous anger I despise.

You might have got it from your favourite commentator,

A useful fool of a greedy dictator:

That makes you a collaborator

In the country’s ruin, what we call a traitor.

 

Your mate told you over a drink

But did you ever just stop and think?

I mean think hard: take some time,

Work on your beliefs like I’ve worked on mine.

 

Until your methods are unimpeachable

Truth will remain, for you, unreachable.

If you make yourself an empty vessel,

Absorbing nonsense willingly,

Refusing with complexity to wrestle,

You show your gullibility

And it won’t be kind when we call you ‘special’.

 

Even a few Lies will colour your mind

So to those lies don’t be colourblind

 

If you have higher thought foregone

Then you are a mere automaton,

Zombie-like, a mental carcass,

Serving someone else’s purpose.

“Give me freedom” I hear you cry:

Free from truth is enslaved to a lie.

The call for freedom resonates with me

But it is only the truth that shall set ye free.