I listen yet to the years-old refrain
I've heard so often it has become plain
And clear to even me; I do not strain
Untangling threads the harmonies will weave
Or picking out the words that I believe
Still speak good thoughts I delight to receive.
I still, though, see that other still rely
On what they think is one voice to get by
Even if it feeds them on a lie
And tells them so-called thought-control abounds
When it itself divergent thought surrounds
And seeks to have it swallowed by the ground
A fate that waits for all, as must be said
But one to which some are more swiftly led.
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