A quick laugh, a quick laugh, at the ones who do fight,
With a zeal, with a squeal, they just know that they're right.
When their vocal chords flap, their own spirits applaud,
For they speak truths on life, politics, art, and god.
They know of "the others" - ones who do not agree.
How can they live with them? Just one trick - certainty!
Certainty! And their facts? They'll sweep you off your feet!
Certainty! And their hearts? They'll shame you with each beat!
Certainty is the force which holds them to the ground.
Certainty is the muse which makes their words profound.
Certainty helps them see "the others" as they are:
Idiots! Hypocrites! Sinister and bizarre!
But "the others" are, well, also certain and strong,
And if certainty's truth... which poor bastard is wrong?
PS: This is a poem about myself, everyone who has ever agreed with me, and everyone who has ever disagreed with me. Indeed, the biggest fools are the ones who think this poem doesn't refer to them (I'm certain of it).
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