- Andre Lamartin
A gelid world of silent strangers,
Where the heartless pass you by.
Wasting time a constant danger,
Truth and meaning morbid lies.
A quest for glory in an early grave,
The definition of a productive life.
Freedom earned only to be a slave,
The world your cell the prison life.
Oh George Orwell how could you,
Have been so terribly right.
The dictionary now lists post-truth,
As a word that bears unrivalled might.