Propaganda on the Eve of War

 

I can’t sleep, I can’t sleep

I only stay awake

I hear the storm rush through the trees

This is a restless night

 

We’re always right and never wrong

We’re heroes in our minds

We dress the truth, cover it with lies

Then tell ourselves OK

 

Rehearsed, prepared and smooth

It always does us credit.

Any time we speak it out

The record shows, we did it right

 

Except for one discomf’ted fact

The one that just won’t go away

The place we bend the truth

To suit our circumstance

 

Unfortunately – or perhaps it’s fortunate

The world will not believe

They see straight through pretense

Recognizing our mendacity

 

What we present as truth

They won’t believe

They won’t be bought

So we just look naïve.

 

The emperor’s fine in his own eyes

Dressed in his newest clothes

It’s only when his subjects look close

We see his nakedness