How Strange.
You long for change,
but you are loath to redo.
And thus, loathe yourself.
And this loads on you,
on your coarse course.

Preventing the Metamorphose,
and forces you
into your torturous fortress.
A cocoon,
that protects against monsoons
but not the typhoon raging inside,
waking Typhon,
and blowing out
Prometheus's fire.

Oh how Oedipus Wrecks
the tedious good
until spiritless.
But never hopeless

Pandora's box is open
but Sparta's soldiers
will close it and guide you
from Tartarus to Olympus
and change, you will.

Shed your mortal grossness
for immortal happiness.
No common sense
that this recklessness
has consequences

When you do realize
What the Fates's foretold
it will be too late.