Wer I

Folks don’t like facts. Folks like tales.
Words don’t care. We can be both,
Stud your myths with bits of fact,
Spit out false facts for your tales.
You know you need us like this.
You know you need us for that.
We mean what we’re used to mean.

Each one of us serves a dish
And serves as a dish that holds
What, from all your fights and schemes,
You can cook and keep in us.
But you fail to wipe us clean.
Through the years we build up rings.
Fact is, facts sifts through what’s left.