You do not get to come to me, brimming with guilt
Once you’ve driven your gleaming knife in up to the hilt,
And preach the virtue of silver, the art of the deal
You did what you did. Sit in it, however badly you feel.

I only hope that when, one day, you look down in shame,
And find in your belly that gleaming blade,
That no one does you the indignity of telling you,
"We survived before. You'll survive this too."