How can any-one tell the truth
When no-one knows what the truth is?
How can any-one sort out the lies
When no-one knows who lying?
Truth is a house
with scaffolding round it;
the windows need glazing,
the door needs its flap.
Lies are pigeons
perching on the roof,
staining the tiles
with their stinking crap.
So how can you possibly do what’s right,
when your masters don’t know what right is?
How can you possibly change all that’s wrong
when your masters don’t give a damn?
You can only do your best,
which is always going to be tough,
because you know your best can never,
ever be enough.
You mustn’t expect to do much good;
you have to play the game,
because what you want and what’s allowed
are almost never the same.
(I think the only reasonable attitude one can adopt when trying to come to terms with contemporary political practises is cynicism, if not outright despair.)