Who could love a poet when a soldier would suffice
To warm the weary winter frostbitten bitter nights
To protect them from the wolf howling at the front door
And dare in dark and dangerous nights to explore
The ****** savagery of lust unencumbered on the floor
Who could love a poet for he is living in his words
Mind made up about the stuff no one has ever heard
Is he wicked, morbid, or only mildly disturbed
Yes, the lonely lovely poet no one has ever heard
Who could love a poet when a savage gets them hot
And though poets be full of passion savages they are not
Bumbling buffoons barreling through bottles of bourbon
Sharing sips of sanity to get through all the worthless working
You like him don’t you that mindless barbarian
That ****** with a rifle and the sickness he’s been carrying
Who could love a poet when desire makes them blind
Now years have passed mistakes become cemented in time
Bruises and broken bones, barely scratch the surface
In your heart you lost the spark and nothing can return this
Then you will love the poet, with words to sooth your soul
To satisfy that empty crater that you refuse to show
That hole dug deeper than anyone could truly know
You will love the poet then, but only the poetry will be left