A sense of purple, royal inadequacy
Siezes me as I gloss truthly spirits
And invent what they tell me to feel,
Pretty woman, pretty thing
Primitive lonely, primitive thing
Don't look into my skull, for
I'm thinking what they pay me for

But lovely is the feeling
That saviours walk on educated steps
Frowns draw well wrought lines of ponder
Ditches of leprosy dug by the brain,

Pariah, well maybe, well just to myself
What it is I'd forgotten what wishes I work with
I'm leaving a nutshell and entering an essay
Donning a thinking cap woven in led

So there, I wrote something, and it came out coherent
Though I've no idea what it said,
My ramblings lost purpose and for that their quest,
But they buy me a future, and for that
I'm happy
Or perhaps I'm easily *lead