In unorthodox verses with a poetic tongue,

And my vibrant fingers crossed, I’ll trigger the gun –

A formation of words, so to speak I shall say,

Will combine with saliva, for a delicate play.

Some may call it a mouth, loaded with words,

But I happen to know how to kill two birds –

With one stone, and I know it’s a fragile saying,

So my meaning’s casual, to reduce fraying –

Of my witty appeal, and quick-witted replies,

To your genuine faces, sour with lies.

I’ve come to terms with comments, rather left unsaid,

From people who I feel would be rather off dead.

And have witnessed people scorn a child at play,

Then surreptitiously act in a childish way.

Heard sentimental thoughts to a newly-widowed wife,

But caught the sound of guffawing at her deteriorating life.

So I’ll utter this once, only once and no more:

If hypocrisy’s a disease, is there a cure?