Refrain, oh ye Profane

Ode to the Profane,
may ye live in peace.
Through Cerberus disdain
he chases you, your pain
and no refuge found in any crease.






Ode to the Profane,
may your days be always numbered.
Like that killing brother Cain,
for you, there, a trouble that is lain.
In whithered hour, your dream-color, only umbre.

Ode to that Profane,
life for you to only agonize.
In your life, only pain,
the devil in your eye, pure disdain,
and all those about you only patronize.

Ode to you, Profane.
Tis a life not worth living,
birth for you ney again,
(for that first, from womb, was never sane)
and now your life's blood is only for the giving.

Ode to you, Profane,
your books you may write,
and the necks, they may crane,
but on the minds only strain,
and yours is a legacy of the trite.

Ode to you, Profane.
While great bastions from ye are pummelled.
But in the melee of that great train,
your thoughts, they sum in a certain refrain
of the fact of a life that is never humbled.

Ode to you, Opie Taylor
for yours is the heart of a Louveteau.
While your idol is Kaaba,
The cowan's heart in you, Jablichas
pitied soul pours forth like blood from wounded doe.