All originality has departed
And left the same old tired jibes
About something most of us have forgotten.
Yet still you hack away, as if we
Cared about it in the first place.

Perhaps one day you will admit
That you ruined it all
For the sake of content.
After all, we know how little
You ever have to say, so
Your ability to come up with
Anything worthwhile must have
Departed long ago.

So you decided to invent
A self fulfilling prophecy
Because you had nothing to say
And you didn't like the colour
Of the government.

When did the truth become
Such a rare commodity anyway?
Surely there are some of us
Who would still like to know
What is really happening...
Or are we now so rare
That serving us dents
Your circulation dramatically?

Perhaps my perception of the truth
Means nothing to anyone else,
But your perception is printed
And read and believed by so many
That it gains acceptance
No matter how true it is.

Perhaps some discretion
Might not go amiss.
After all, words have power,
And it would play on your conscience
If your words ever killed anyone.

03/31/2002

Posted on 04/01/2002
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