I.
You whose passion guards my Hell,
Take heed of this
Before you lock me in.
I've whispered tales to maidens
That have made them unlock their doors as well.
II.
First to you I give my name:
Ivan Douglass born from pain.
But built on lust
And sardonic wit.
Your mother I knew.
She sold me her...
But I jest.
You are the master with the key.
I am the ass
Who yearns to be.
Play me a tune,
Won't you sir?
I've been kept in silence
And my own voice is...er...
Just a nuisance, can't you tell?
Oh master, please, just the sound of a bell?
Not the church kind,
That wouldn't be fitting.
I'll tell you what,
Just sing!
No?
OK,
I'll continue my song instead.
It's bound to be long,
Since eternal are the dead.
III.
Know any jokes?
No?
I do.
There once was a boy
Who owned one shoe.
He walked about
With a limp.
He seemed upset
So his mother,
Who was a gimp,
Tore off her skirt
And sewed a new shoe.
But sadly, it was her only skirt,
So she became...
A flooze!
Isn't that a joke,
And a funny one too.
But you're not laughing.
OK, it's true.
I'm no comedian.
But apparently, neither are you.
We both are the same thing:
Guards, I suppose.
You guard me
And I guard...
My woes.
No comedian, it is true.
Ah, my friend, if only you knew...
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