For a feeling of freedom often finds distress abounding
and a sense of daring seeks a release of all resounding
in the quick and dreary mind of futures fated fortunes
lies a prediction of undreamt pasts unlived and unloved
to be Death in all that is wanton and wished for, dreamed
a clear vision of the spilled viscera of unmet hopes schemed
and we butchers making sausage from the ever flowing gore
but the chore of life marches on, the tireless martinet
Run! Don't walk, do you think this is a play?
say what you will, of all this dreary parsody
a comedy, yes! but nevertheless, in a dramatic way
then say you now, speak of what you really want to say
don't hold back, but say it wrong and you'll rue the day
then a slap on the face and a long walk off a short pier
know that words and pens are mightier than the sharpest swords,
we gaily run to throw ourselves on them every hour, of every day
