Brian Christopher Poczos - Burn These Words, My Poet Friends lyrics

No greater insult can a poet's heart fend Than having burned his candle at both ends In expressions of pure, unfettered love With beaten brow, and iron glove. No greater spit upon his face Can one true poet e'er embrace Than to deny all mortal and fleshly thrones And cast his lots on true love's bones. No greater kick within the crotch Can truth withstand than true love's watch; For so the poet will embrace The lonely life and spat-on face, But nothing worse can his ear turn Than to hear the deafening, damning burn Of his lover's voice sincere profess' That he writes from simple loneliness. For had it been, he would have who*ed— With whipping cane and blazoned sword; For had he gone that route, for sure, He would have bludgeoned all that's pure. But the poet's heart is great and true; To write undaunted, triumph's hue, He separates the thickest cream And smears it in a sultry dream; And who he loves shall bear the mark Of midnight candle's majestic spark, For eternal shall their memory be Never lonely... Never sunken in the sea. To all great poets, hold fast these words: To accept this insult— the absurd of absurds! For you are lonely never more, Embraced on every land and shore! My ship has surged throughout the night In exhausted flames and candle bright, And when my candle has been doused, You'll hear these words of friendly spouse. No greater insult can a poet's heart fend Than having burned his candle at both ends; Never appreciated, never justly said— Hold fast your bloody, bludgeoned head! No more accept these caustic words Or perceive your cream as tasteless curds, Nor condemn yourself to be abased With lonely life and spat-on face. For the worldly may perceive your days As solemn ones with sullen gaze, And the gem within your heart may say You love her not, to your dismay. But hear me, from the Highest Court, (And affix yourself on this report): The poet bears the souls of all— The highest rank; the godly call. Your voice is loved beyond your years; Your d**h is filled with friendly tears. I set asail for the Severing Shore, To cast hope upon the Threshing Floor. At last, She calls to quench my light… My ship's afire; “Both ends, burn bright'.”