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To know is to demean

And the truth is so raw, it's clean

To see it with a crest or plume,

Is to know it is inauthentic

The real thing has only vapors, fumes

And to always breathe the truth

Will only end your life early

Or leave you damned just the same

Each direction has a keyhole

For which a key was never made

They were created just for looking

A way to peer at the light within

Welcoming the voyeurs

But giving them the smallest view