The winds stopped blowing
And I’ve quit rowing
Stuck in the Doldrums again.
If self pity was next to godliness
I’d be the tramp
Sat squat on his lap with a smile.
The ironic tool of the iconic fool
Nailed to the cross by his hands.
The flacid symbol of man’s redemption
With the tears and the blood and the wounds.
Self doubt, self worry
The curse and the weakness,
You’re gonna take what you want and dig deep.
Pull emotion from soul
Squeeze blood from the stone,
Cut off my balls and retreat.
I’ll dig my own pit
Burn flesh and submit
With love in my heart I’m a fool.

With love
In my heart
I’m a fool.

©All right reserved to Benjamin Cusden

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