I swear by Shelley’s steely soul,
as poets, we have ups and downs.
Some lows, some highs, some times of trouble
(some bastard’s bound to burst your bubble!)
I vow, sometimes, we’re high as steeple.
and poets can be placid people,
until some sad, sick sons on bitches
unpick from poet’s cloak the stitches!
I say, we’re only killing time,
composing raw and raucous rhyme,
yet, sorrow in our souls is sowin\'
a mustard seed of faith that’s growin\'!
I swear by Shelley’s steely soul
As poets, we’re transparent people,
with no one’s mind we plan on messin’;
believe us; we’re hell-bent on blessin’!