Odes to the Poet: Psalms of Love and Despair

The Ancient Wound My poor, poor baby I see the fear in your eyes I think to myself maybe You've heard one too many lies I know you'll resist And you'll kick and you'll thrash As I grab at your wrist And your face turns to ash But I'll tug at your arm And I'll ask you to wake Cause I've seen so much harm And through your heart there's a stake As if claimed by some crime In some unfortunate time But I'm loath to remove it For I know it won't sooth it That's why to you I beseech With my deeds and my speech That dreaded implement to reach And to throw and to lose it Why I have care For that I've no answer But in your eyes, lies despair And I've seen it spread like a cancer I've seen noblest of souls To this cancer succumb As they land on life's shoals Without dignity or aplomb So my sweet darling I grab at your wrist And with force and a snarling I give it a twist And you'll kick and you'll scratch And you'll tear my two eyes out And you'll run to a room made of thatch That you call your own hideout But I'll blow, just a little And down it will come You'll be there in the middle Quaking, and shivering, and some And you'll feel yourself hate me For the care that I take But it won't deflate me I'll be glad you're awake For from this ordeal You'll see blood and see pain And you'll know that it's real And as common as rain After all, that's what happened to me.