and lullabies of happiness,
of friendly frigate birds
while I, the one with fiery eyes,
wait for the darkness of the night
when inborn principles
and the kindness of humanity
shall be torn up like the old shirt
that priests do wear in private life.
Mind you, this is no case of obsolescence,
as, for a hoarder I do seldom part
with well-worn clothes and useless things,
yet this is a new age, new rules apply.
I shall look back for my approval,
will surely find it in medieval times,
you’ve taken out my heart with frigid hands
but while it manages its final beats
you will have found a simple piper
who only takes all of his pay in blood.

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