Pattern me no moor; ANY mo[or]

Pattern me no moor:

No lonely heath

Nor wreath of deathly lived.

I want no long[‘er]

Your humiliation:

Framed as my best interests

At [st.]{‘e(art)}.

But it’s not true at all,

And I’m not sure it ever was.

I have spent thirty years living

With a lie I understood

From the very first day

And night.

And yet even so,

Oh how beautiful its fruit:

The looting of life

Proceeds apace.

No space for regret:

Now it’s time I struck out.

Now I’ll soon have the clout,

It’s time to strike out.

And although hurt it will cause,

The alternative of further loss

Is not my desire

To sire:

Not any mo[or].

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