They say he is too old now,
That he has lost his place,
But still when someone meets him,
You should see the look on their face.
They say he doesn’t matter,
And anyone will do,
But sleeping at night is not the same,
As resting in what is true.
They say that guy is trouble,
Just look at all he’s done,
But it turns out we are far more gifted,
At shedding innocent blood.
They say he’s not the same as,
We had heard in years before,
But what if we’re the ones who’ve changed?
I’d feel safer if I was sure.
They say he can be moulded,
’Til his image suits our eyes,
I fear, for though I heard he’s good,
I never heard he’s nice.
They say there’s nothing waiting,
Nonexistence, never life,
But is that what we know to be,
Or just what we would like?
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