For love of wine, I whine of love
For hate of bear, I bare my hate
though I dare not give a shove
to the twisted monster that is fate

I wield the most gruesome iron rod
and beat away the thought of God

For love of profits, I proffer love
For hate of him, I sing a hymn
though I dare not dream or speak of
the saintly sin of eternal whim

I lay down the beauty of the feathered crook
in hopes of finding some truer book

Alas, such philosophy as that
lays curled into his tail upon my mat.