Falsely tru[MP/ed.]

– You can’t live falsely, she cried.

And whilst she cried what she cried, inside she died what she died.

– Yes you can, of course, he replied.  You just ignore the bit of you that sighs.  The bit that sees oh far too well; the bit that focusses on our hell.

– This cannot be, she retorted fierce.  You drive me to a wilderness of lies.  And how can I be in bed with you, if everything you do and say ain’t true?

– Not everything is false my dear, he replied, as he untied and tied his bright political tie.  For instance, fact, I promise you this, when I hold you close and brush that kiss, that’s as true as it gets; really true, you bet!

And for a moment, this made her think.  And for a moment, she was really quite set to throw in the towel she’d gingerly collected; to throw in the towel for no reason at all.  

But suddenly she jumped and suddenly she leapt:

– Then when does crime and legal hurt enter your lips of gorgeous taught?  

And her question rang and sang out loud, and if crowd had been there he would have failed the test of thinking quick and thinking right, and making bright the day all round.

But as he had her on her own, and as he bade her quite alone, and as he was able to think facile enough, the goal she had set him no longer felt rough.

– Just remember this, he finally whispered.  I only lie when I speak to the nation.  With you, however, my lips are always true.  With you, my life is quite renewed!


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