Doff Thine Cap

Doff Thine Cap

Thou canst not jest but jeer
Was ever the bairn in thee?
A mechanical miser of empire
Haunted by mercantile loss
A contemptible moneyed vampire,
The broken fall into thine trap
Do not look down on me sir,
For I will not doff mine cap.

For thou art truly my elder
But never a better shall be
You can furrow thine brow and spit,
From the anger that burns you inside
You can bellow, scream and hit
But never a good man be
Even if you were made a god
I would not bow down to thee.

Thou clingeth to life for what reason:
To rule with an iron fist?
In a mansion of chains and misery
Where the only life is flies
From the cemetery to the factory
Never an angel shall follow
And I shalt not weep for your passing
And I shalt not suffer in sorrow.

© Severn Dwyer. Written in Laksevåg, Norway 2013

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