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It sits well with the mind of a child
Or the superstitious and primitive man,
And it works well as a doctrine compiled
For we want to know where life began.
We predict what never comes true;
Each generation renewing the myth,
But it serves a need to have such a view,
That reality is succumbed by belief.
Well if joy is the result of the lie
Is it more fruitful to discard the truth?
That the doubters should never ask why,
That the believers be burdened by proof,
To reveal what is not observed by the eye;
Apparently known only to those who die.
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