There's always bin the idea
O two sets o books
Ever since books were invented
A curious process in which we all are involved
It's what keeps us from going demented

One set the truth
That unravels unheeded unseen perhaps
By those around who look on
The other your truth
Somewhat tailored but blurred
Of what you thought
You'd become

Cos the moral compass has no external dial
To ink on your page no one listens
So You can write down the details
However you like
Talk about a double entry system.