How I See Myself Reading News and Comment
I can’t explain why truth is true,
How right is right or how I knew
That something everyone believed
Was utter rubbish, ill conceived.
I couldn’t give an interview
And prove by some great mental fight
Another chap was talking shite,
I can’t examine figures and explain
How they do not back up another’s claim.
And when I speak in words as old and plain
And simple as the best things always are,
I sound as boring and as dreary as the rain,
While others, full of fervour, eyes aflame,
Are more convincing, propping up the bar.
And still I read the papers every day,
And listen to ideas and the way
That they’re presented as established fact,
And as I am plain thinking, lacking tact,
I read, I think, I stew and I react
As if a guiding light had shown the course,
Though I might not know the reasons,
Or the motives of the source,
I am merely an earnest news inspector,
Experienced through many cycles, seasons,
With finely tuned and honed bullshit detector.
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