Two spirits live, oh, within my breast
So Goethe said, in my chest
A spark of God raging, and Mephistopheles
In the caverns of my consciousness

Jealous of a wholesome rest
And to stop the precedent
The handshake of the worm and the bird
They strive to shake my confidence

They lure me in with decadence
To rob me of my sense
One part of me will blush
The other, cry out ‘yes’

And another laughs at death
And another shakes their head
It was not Goethe who was right
But the Steppenwolf of Herman Hesse

A thousand flowers of the soul
Meek and wild, young in heart and old
And to recognise only two of them
The greatest tragedy of all