The truth is a caravan

       and the dogs aren't doing squat

       Sleeping in the sun

    Scratching themselves 

        With their back legs

     The truth wears a blood stained sword 

   And carries an ancient long gun

   It rides a surly old camel

 Who spits in the face of anyone within shot

    The truth then laughs 

   A hardy robust laugh

    As it drinks coffee made w brackish well water

And plans not 

   A thought