You’ll die and be not happy,
This has ever been the score,
Some of you for want of nothing,
Some of you for wanting more…
Little boots did bind my painted toes
I coddled your devotions,
Now I’ve nightly conversations with the mountains and the oceans…
I’m the lake, I am the loon,
I’ll take your eye with a spoon,
I have swords as well as islands
I can make you feel your dying, try me…
A perfume from a foul disease,
From here to there I walked the seas,
But even feats as bold as these
grow tiresome and dreary,
I have felt what love can do,
Love can’t mend a broken shoe,
O I don’t covet love from you,
You would better fear me…
We’re a scar that was a wound
and puckered too soon,
I have swords as well as islands
I can make you feel your dying, try me…
“I understand it all - that is my trouble.”
Bring the poets from their brew,
March them to me two by two,
Have them know the theme is death
Then let them sing it new -
the well of wisdom is a fast latrine,
The tree of love is sappy,
Have I told you ever darling
how men die and are not happy?
When the last holly blooms
I’ll fornicate with the moon,
I have swords as well as islands
I can make you feel your dying, try me…
