Like it’s reality?
Ev’rything you do presupposes it,
Coloring all you see,
It’s a piece in the structure that makes you,
A solid amidst gas,
‘less you prescribe to my friend David Hume,
Who said we’re a bundled perception mass,
Then something pulls the rug from under you,
A truth of yours debunked,
You must reevaluate history,
Plus deal with present junk,
Then you might think,
‘What good is truth, at all?’
Rather, you must know each of yours well ‘nough,
Should you lose any, that you do not fall.
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