Welsh born and here I stand
Always proud of this beautiful land
Loyal to this country where I was born
Ever missing it when I am gone
Special, glorious Wales, within my heart

Tyger Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Come to me, if you will
I need your body tonight
Grab you hard, you're my thrill
Use you bad, treat you right

This old man waited for you
Tell me, where have you been?
Exactly what did you do?
My punishment will be obscene

Your young body belongs to me
To order you how to play
You are my desire, my little mystery
I am the master, do what I say

Come to me, if you will
I need your body tonight
Grab you hard, you're my thrill
Use you bad, treat you right

Yes, those young men are your fun
But you're my fetish, when I call
You've returned, it had to be done
For you always need me, after all

Kneel now, await for my word
Trembling to feel my hard touch
Time for you, yes, time to be good
For both of us crave this too much

Come to me, if you will
I need your body tonight
Grab you hard, you're my thrill
Use you bad, treat you right

I awoke in a dream
Surrounded by a bilious familiarity
Angry shades of the drying blood of hope
Caked over venomous fangs of discontent
Stagnant shadows of effluvium
Emanate from the molten flesh
Of this creature I seem to know

But how, how do i know this putrid soul
This being, born of irascible acrimony
Seething breaths sear my senses
As I feel the pounding heart
Scream within it's chest
Aflame with the atrocities it has incited

Yet, in it's gentle eyes there is no malice
There is only the reflection of an angel
Gossamer vestments blow in the stillness
So effulgent in the darkness
Again, familiar and uncomfortable
It's eyes bore into mine that reflection of heaven

I could not see myself in those eyes
That gaze seemed to hypnotize in its polarity
As I floated unseen, I looked at this being
Seething miasmata while reflecting a seraph
Acidic tears of truth fell from within my poisoned soul
As the creature and the reflection merged in the bluest flame

And transformed my spirit into flesh
I am both the reflection and the being
Living the anguish of the truth of what I am
Fighting every  moment to be less than and more than
Pretending that I do not embody the dichotomy of bile and bliss
Seraph and succubus
The truth and the lie

There once was a little mouse
Asleep in his own little house
Cosy in his own little bed
On his pillow is his little head

Dreaming of getting past the cat
Creeping past with pitter pat
Trying not to give away a sneeze
Climb up and steal the cheese

Because that cheese is so yummy
So nice in his little tummy
Has to be quick and brisk
When he awakes, he will take the risk

Thou wast that all to me, love,
  For which my soul did pine—
A green isle in the sea, love,
  A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!
  Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
  A voice from out the Future cries,
“On! on!”—but o’er the Past
  (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! with me
  The light of Life is o’er!
“No more—no more—no more”—
(Such language holds the solemn sea
  To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
  Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,
  And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
  And where thy footstep gleams—
In what ethereal dances,
  By what eternal streams!

Alas! for that accursed time
  They bore thee o’er the billow,
From love to titled age and crime,
  And an unholy pillow!
From me, and from our misty clime,
  Where weeps the silver willow!