Twine these together,
Weave a cloth of fallacies
That I needs must use a blade
To pick apart such intricacies
Curse the rope of propriety
Binding this appendage
Plain brass gilded by conventions
Trapping such violent rage
They say there must needs be fire
Wherein be the stench of smoke
But of these allegations I tire
Be they not heart-felt
Does such a paradox
In thine eyes appear
When sight is laid
Upon this soul here?
Give me leave
To live in the best of both
To straddle sane and mad
Without such misgivings as I loathe.
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