It is light hearted amongst the cloud dust,

I do sing my most happy days of home.

Yet words can cause a bleeding pain of heart,

And dance me in my room to be alone,

Where I conduct the complex melody,

Amongst flaming clutter of my poor mind,

Burning in the soft wood an elegy.

My foremost notions are to here be signed.

Should we see through a glass of devotion,

A skewed smudging view to say the most least.

So drink of this richly brewed potion,

We shall see the true nature of the beast.

And should we site the flaming jaws and horns,

Shall we be the victims of lesser scorn?