The Love Of The Lie

I stopped believing in anything when I was 12 years old
And started deconstructing everything that I was ever told
I thought that when I got there, wherever there may be
That it would give me a good head start on the rest of humanity
Who I figured would eventually reach the same conclusions
That society is essentially based upon delusions
But by the time my 13th birthday had almost reached an end
I couldn’t help but notice an all-pervading trend
That my friends, or those I had then, just thought that I was mad
And dismissed my eccentricities as a passing teenage fad
But the days turned in to weeks & months, and months turned in to years

And I grew more alienated and distracted from my peers
As I peered in to the rabbit-hole of internet conspiracies
Where totalitarian control and governmental heresies
Have planned to implement an almost incremental coup
And the worst part is they’ll make you think they’re doing it for you.
And it was hard to talk about those things without just sounding strange

Or like the last known living outpost of the mentally deranged
Just to mention 9/11 to the blissfully naïve
Or to talk about the moon-landing to those who still believe
That not only was it possible, back in 1969
To simply live-stream the event to millions at a time
When we had yet to figure out how to put wheels on a suitcase
From more than two hundred and twenty thousand miles away in space
But it was also plausible to trust the deep regime
Who some say silenced Dr. King for his right to have a dream
Or who framed Lee Harvey Oswald for the death of J.F.K.
And ran Project M.K. Ultra alongside the C.I.A.

And they’ve a right to those beliefs, of course, though I still stand accused
Of not quite sharing their directives, their perspectives, or their views
As in; I’d sooner trust a lioness to mind my pet gazelle
Than I’d trust most politicians with the basic truth to tell.
But I don’t think I need a tin-foil hat for questioning the news
Or for suggesting that the planet’s population is abused
By a power that’s invested in the privilege of the few
Who’ve devoured and digested all we used to see as true

‘Cause there was a time I’m sure when that was simply common sense
Though now to call it common likely causes some offence
Or it’s proof I must be Sensist to the Ignorance-Is-Bliss-
Society for the Prevention of the Right to Still Exist.
But I spent years of being martyr hoping one day I might live
‘Til I learned some people take from you no matter what you give
And though I spoke to crowds of thousands from all corners of this land
I went home to the post-office with my pauper’s cap in hand
While the wolves in woollen sweaters saw their right to use the arts
For the profit to their pockets and to better play the parts
Of the token wooden soldiers as they marched us to the flames
Of another rigged agenda in these power-ridden games.

But I lost my faith in who I was and everything I did
And the only thing that saved me was the time spent with my kid
And in the presence of his innocence he taught me to begin
To see the greatest war that’s ever waged is always fought within
And the choices that we’re faced with aren’t just if we live or die
But to turn and face the truth or to learn to love the lie.

So I turned my back on politics, and came to the position
Where I couldn’t trust the government or trust the opposition
Or the media, the unions, or society at large
Or those unelected NGOs who feign to be in charge
Who claim the enemy is everywhere around us at all times
Through our mandatory masks that confound us and contrive
To dehumanise our faces and to propagate the fear
As they seek to track and trace us while to me it just appears
That this civil degradation has been planned and thus designed
With our social isolation and conditioning in mind.
And you can call me a conspiracist but I think that term is fraught
With the dangers of dismissing all kinds of critical thought
And to shut down conversations with a label that denies
The way to validation through this labyrinth of lies

But if I wear a mask in shops just to show the staff respect
That doesn’t mean I can’t see through the wilful mass neglect
Of our elderly in care homes, who are leaving life in fear
By believing politicians who are trying to sound sincere
While they’re quoting things like Mean Girls just to take the utter piss
Or the psychological impact at the heart of all of this.
But I don’t need for recognition, or to pick and choose a side
‘Cause my primary ambitions are to see through the divides
That are carefully and consciously and constantly imposed
By a nefarious agenda that’s increasingly exposed
And to try to make the world a small bit better for my son
and for the sake of all the future generations yet to come.

Stephen Murphy

Previously: Stephen Murphy on Broadsheet