As they grew older they grew further away Withholding their love Remote, with apparently little to say No words, no tears, no kind of stuff Falling from their distant lives Living with new thoughts, lovers, wives. A troupe of sons, gambling with time!
Alexander was a rotten son of a brilliant father Misled by a motherβs lies Into an oedipal outrage. Spurred to violence, rather Then be a man he became a legend, pursued by biting flies. Betrayal often leads to success, The betrayer a psychological mess.
The love of a child evaporates Evident in the lives of kings The urge for power saturates Ignores duty, gratitude, those kind of things. But hell! So what? We once, objects of their beaming infant smiles, received such a lot.
OK, Richard the First left his father to die alone, John ripped the money from the dead manβs purse, They then fought each other for the throne Making a family feud undeniably worse. Throughout history, the mothers taking new ambitious lovers Caused greater angst amongst whole generations of brothers.
Families are rarely friends: brother fights brother Sister quarrels with sister, battling incessantly, Despising each carefully chosen lover Examining each other critically. The success of one initiates gloom, A show of brilliance, a thunderous rain-wrenched boom.
Compared to great and legendary figures Our problems are played out beneath a dimmer light We drown our thoughts with liquor Squabble like screeching bats in the night No grabbing of swords, fastening of armour, beribboned horses Our mundane arguments have tiny causes.