WE CURSE AND QUIVER AT GOD’S DISDAIN
WE TREMBLE AT THE FAIR MAIDES’S TOUCH
WE SOON DISCOVER THAT WHERE WE HAD LAIN
WAS CRUDE AND FEELBLE AND OF THE SUCH
YET WHILE WE ARE PRISONERS IN OUR OWN BRIGADE
THE MOON LAUGHSS IN ITS OWN SWEET SILKY SERENADE
THE SYMPHONY THAT ARE THE SOUNDS AND I
MEANDER AROUND IN THE MORNING’S DEW
WE SHAKE OUR FISTS AT THE COLD BEARIG SKY
WHILE WE DANCE TO THE SOONG OF ME AND YOU
STILL THE MOON GIGGLES IN HARMLESS HARMONY
WHILE WE SING THE LYRICS OF A RAGING PSYCHE.
2/20/97
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