Oh writer, weary hearted,
Of rapture, best beware,
Lest pens of dreary artists
Ink chapters of despair!
Oh poet, behind pleasantries,
Still wrought with inner pain,
Your idle mind's obscenities
Build thoughts of Sinner’s reign.

My knuckles, bruised and ******,
And heavy weighs the soul,
No use for one to love me
No levy pays my toll.
My resolve is rendered empty,  
What am I meant to do?
When cold surrender tempts me,
I'm sure it tempts them, too.

Oh melodist, melancholy,
Oh wordsmith of all woe,
You live with felon’s folly
And absurdities in tow.
Oh dreamer, disillusioned,
Of jilted, jaded view,
What scheme is your solution
For the guilt enslaving you?

My conscience is unburdened,
My spirit bears no shame,
I'm conscious and determined
To set my pad aflame.
I'll stare through mystic reaper,
While the godless persevere,
For lairs of mythic creatures
Are my solace from the fear.