could i be happy to carry on along my merry way
when deep inside i cannot see much truth in all you say?
if ignorance indeed is bliss, then who am i pry?
what good is the truth, i ask, if it will make me cry?
is honesty the final flaw in what could be endless bliss?
would we care at all for truth if it wasn't there to miss?
beligerent and blasted are those who seek such things
when everybody knows too well the unhappiness it brings
merrily oh merrily i turn i blinded eye
happiness, it seems to me, does lie within a lie.
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