Truth is a battered woman,
Trampled beneath people’s feet.
After all, you can pick her flavor?
Savory, salty, or sweet?
Nothing is ever absolute
Except for that statement.
Fear of responsibility is the root,
Of this disease that has spread
That will murder your morality
And choke truth dead.
Because if there is a right,
It would cause a conundrum,
That we avoid with all our might.
But I’m afraid the world sings this song
That if there is a right,
There must be a wrong.
So if you are on the way
And you happen upon truth
Wrap her up and hold close
Feed her at your table
And she’ll show you what you treasure most
By the Brooke 