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He fell prey to a beautiful enchantress. Yes, the face of death he did lovingly caress. She stole his power of banal reasoning, Coldly stripped the very soul from his being, And spit the empty shell from her stone cold lips. Some say he’s an angry young man. Some don’t even try to understand. Dare you look him in the eye? Do you think you’d win his vie? He doesn’t expressly hate the rest, He’s just been blinded by his bitterness. He’s hardened hurt-proof armor around his aching soul, And you will not—cannot—find even the smallest hole Through which you may pass and wound him still, Stick in your knife and go for the kill. (Chorus) So, you say you love this man of steel: Your gentle heart hast known the feel. If you must, there are those amongst the land Whom he loves, and well they understand: Seek them out, for they will pave the way. (Chorus) You sought my advice, so listen to me: Beware of your soul, as you can still see. God speed, my child. May God be with thee. God knows it will happen if it’s meant to be. (Chorus) |
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Originally published as a collection of songs entitled: Onerous Musicalis (A Collection of Bothersome Musical Soirées). Copyright © 1995 Eric Knickerbocker. All rights reserved. | Next Poem  |
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