The man is dead,
and still as any who have shed their breath,
despite their grief
and tales of having seen him sounding sweet
on the teller's tongue.
And yet, we've let them fantasise too long,
till truth is scarce
amongst them. Let us now end this pallid farce,
as they have spared
us in the past with word and whip, and fare
forwards to find
ever the weak shall break with shaking hand,
and those the priests
with lies, repressive lies, and repressed needs.