lifeinbetween

lifeinbetween

Username: lifeinbetween
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  • Jill Sobule!
The lies are loud, we’re louder; unleash the megaphones!/ They fight long, we’ll fight longer, till truth’s the default mode.
Feed ‘em good incentives, to speak unbiased truth/ Starve greed out of the kitchen, it’s been rationing their food.
We’re on a noble mission, to wipe the lenses clean/ If they can’t see their condition, the truth can’t set ‘em free.
Decoys went up while guards went down/ in the American underground.
Breech in the armor, lightening rounds/ in the American Underground.
What goes astray from silence to sound, in the American underground
Round isn’t square and square isn’t round, in the American underground/ Roads on a sphere are meant to be cruised; all sides of the story ain’t been news.
*Sight may be safe, but not so sound, in the American underground/ Lies under lipstick, airwave dive, too pretty not to trust our eyes.
Greedy’s a hunter, hungry’s a crowd, in the American underground/ Shine makes good camo, words good guns, mixin’ grains of truth in, makin’ lies less blunt.
Blade as a tongue, and feign of a frown, in the American underground/ Smoke and a mirror, homeward bound, charging at us in HD Surround.
And how it grows, and tough to mow, it’s roots are widening/ Once lies have spread, it’s tough to tend, the field of holes they leave.
The weed became an army, overthrew the yard/ I tried to stuff it back into its seed, but didn’t get far.
It keeps returning, after mowing, roots went mighty deep/ 5 stood there the next day, where I thought I yanked 1 clean.
Confusion is expected, when we’ve been living in/ The age of information, in an age of imprecision.
Hope its roots have not wound past, the depth my shovel goes/ A crater a big lie can cast has gravity it’s own.
Shades pulled over sound and sight, replaced by stars and bells/ easily seduced by truths crossed out for something else.
Multiplying, blooming fiercely, lining courts and lanes/ We held our noses dearly, while they sold them as bouquets.
Even if you shoot and tell/ this underground’s alive and well.
One and one and one make ten, the airwaves sing without a pause; If not true now, will it be when, enough repeats turn gold to straw.
(3rd person version) Think they undershot this view, so warm their echo chamber dens, And just their words and not real news, were only calling back to them.
Think I undershot this view, so warm my echo chamber seat, And just my words and not real news, were only calling back to me.

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