Troth

Why's your jaded tongue so slyly used To words buttered with ensnaring tone; Piping fibs empirical proofs poorly prop, Waxing lies into truth's patented throne? I with all joints and full sinews distrust Grandiose jibes oiled by your tired lips; And luckily mock all façades and crust With which you gild your tempting trips. No backing writs your warping crafts Uphold with faintest discernible facts; Nor do your self-blotting points agree With any of the truth-tied deities three. And not for tons of pleasure-lilied wiles May I in dream your baiting tunes sing; And neither for gain of full cosmic clout Might my soul fall for your deking miles. Man's indeed contented heart only craves Pure verity as passed by its martyr slaves.