Yes Glaucon, the clouds look like beards for the sun,
And birds are the fleas that have crawled in that hair.
But what is their essence? Of what shall we say
Is certain of faces that drift through the sky?
The moon is no female, for clouds ring his glow,
And likewise, the planet is shrouded with mist;
So what shall we say of the nature of sight?
Deception, a shadow-illusion, a crumb of bread
We nibble although there's no sustenance there—
There's nothing to say, for negation's our proof.
"Still, it is perhaps a measure of the volatility of American politics that a television comedy show was able to tap something deep among American voters, who turned out in the tens of thousands on Saturday to add their voices to a national political debate that some said had left them behind. "
—SABRINA TAVERNISE and BRIAN STELTER, The New York Times, Published: October 30, 2010
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