Truth gently wandered about in her beautiful clothing
Dressed to impress orphaned cripples with naught in their heads.
Deceit lured that Truth to her place to stay for the evening
Acting as though she were Truth’s most reliable friend.

And gullible Truth fell asleep like the calmest of babies,
Drooling but slightly, she snuffled and smiled in her sleep.
Clever Deceit hogged the blanket and pulled it away and
Drank from Truth’s veins until she felt full and complete.

She raised herself up, eyeing Truth with the face of a bulldog:
Looks like a woman: and worth no more than the rest.
There isn’t a difference between the one and the other
When Truth and Deceit are both completely undressed.

Deceit even stripped Truth’s hair of its gold-colored ribbons
And snatched up her clothing (she’d deemed it to fit her by eye),
Deceit took Truth’s money, and watch and even her passport,
And filthily cursed, and she left without a goodbye.

Only on waking did Truth discover her losses
And stared at the mirror, not knowing the mirror to lie:
Someone had covered her body in soot and then left her
Smeared head to toe in that soot, but otherwise fine.

The public threw stones at Truth when they saw her;
"Deceit stole my clothes!" she laughed as people took aim;
A couple of cripple-brained cretins cuffed her and logged her
And called her a number of hurtful, ridiculous names.

They called her a "witch", and other names much less respectful,
And smeared her with clay, and unleashed the neighborhood hound
To chase her away past the furthest bounds of the city
And threatened "or-elses" should they ever see her around.

That log of the cretins blamed Truth in a ranting conclusion
For things she’d never suspected could even be done:
Allegedly, some evil filth by the name of "Truth" has
Drunk all her clothing away, like some villainous scum.

And nakedly Truth bummed around cursing and sobbing,
And she fell in her sadness deep into illness and debt.
Meanwhile Deceit stole the purest and whitest of horses
And joyfully galloped away on her white, slender legs.

Mind you, it’s easy to live with Deceit in Truth’s clothing,
Though Truth might suffer, and people confuse them by name.
But Truth can’t be bought, and she roves far away from the public
Avoiding their chastising scowls in her clothingless shame.

Even today, the random odd fool might defend her,
Though even he doesn’t have so much truth in his speech
Though one day, of course, we all know Truth may still triumph -
If only she’s able to act in the ways of Deceit.

So often it happens when drinking out with your brothers
You don’t even know in which bed or on even which street
You’ll fall asleep, and maybe lose all of your clothing...
Look! There’s your pants being worn by crafty Deceit.
Look! There’s your watch on the wrist of crafty Deceit.
Look! There’s your horse being guided by crafty Deceit.