Sing to me, it is the same old song
When no uncertainty survives, but all the facts went wrong
Sing to me, strike the reverberant gong
In this encasement falsehoods thrive, disinformation’s born

It’s lather, rinse, repeat
Distort until complete
Through tribalism we always seem to regard it as true
Suppress, withhold the files
Insurgent voice exiled
If all comes out in time, they’ll just say an apology’s due

The echo chamber calls
It bounces off the walls
It is a lie
But we’re so comforted by our certainty
The truth remains unseen
We’re cogs in the machine
They lead the blind
Only shadows we’ll find
Of what once was real

“Once the wheels are set in motion, it becomes nearly impossible for people to accept new facts that refute the rumour.
And it is through this mechanism that even the slightest hints of economic decline become self-fulfilling prophecies.”

Sing to me, it is the same old song
So little subtlety survives and all the facts went wrong

The echo chamber sounds
Convenient culprit found
The buckets full of blame are in place above the drop zone
We need not be concerned
Our prejudice confirmed
We elbow through the crowd to try to cast the first stone

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