The Algorithm’s Song

The truth that moves on stage

is how the lines are made.

You have to read between the lines

to see the signs, 

the surface story is too clean,

a stage where nothing has been seen.

We want the truth, or so we think.

It’s different when we see it face to face,

a shock when suddenly we know.

The mirror cracks, the paint runs down,

the neat facade begins to shrink,

the Emperor has lost his crown.

What can we do, pilloried by what’s so?

Let go, let go, nothing to cling to here.

Tomorrow is another brave new world.

The truth that moves on stage 

is how the lines are made.