by Nick Gisburne
I find the truth of what you now believe
I find what you are certain to deny
I find the way the wicked will deceive
And feed you with the poison of a lie
I find you far more ignorant than most
I find a closed, uneducated mind
I find in you a crass, compliant host
For all the filthy fictions you may find
I find you are a conduit for hate
I find it is the thing you love to do
I find a fool. I find you far too late
There is no hope, no future, not for you
I find you, after all these years, my friend
A bigot, too malevolent to mend
