A king once said,
”Our spirits are broken only
When we let the pieces go
To polarity and warbling,
The maggots we call duty”
“Maggots don’t warble,”
Said the jester.
“Our spirits are shattered,” said the king,
“When we let the pieces fly
To duty, to honor, to cliché”.
“Maggots don’t warble,”
Said the jester
“Our spirits crack,” said the king
“When we give bits away
To should, to must.”
“Maggots don’t warble,”
Said the jester.
“Our spirits turn to ashes,”
Said the king,
“When we give the shards away
To here, to there, to dichotomy.”
“You will sound reasonable,”
Said the jester,
“When maggots warble.”
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