Let's round up the sceptics and bring them all near
To whisper corrective words in their ear
And if they persist in denying they're ill
We'll have to force-feed them a gullible pill
It's not that we want to; it's just that we must
They're all pathologically lacking in trust
The problem is simple: the proof's a bit thin
But only the sceptics were not taken in
We tried to appease them, we tried to persuade
We've tried using fear, and some of us prayed
But now there's no doubting that doubt's a disease
We'll bring the refuseniks all to their knees
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love your sense of humor