Love,
Is it an investment
On which a handsome interest is earned?
Does the hand that rocks the cradle
Seek it too?
That the return be turned
Into a golden crown
And worn over a head
Always held high
Where can that love be found
Which seeks no return
Except love?
Why is it a crime, a sin
To be ordinary, just ordinary?
I am but an ordinary person
With dreams and aspirations
That yield no ‘return’, that give no ‘interest’
But they make me what I am
A man
Not a god
Which I’ll never be
Though I was brought up by them --
By the gods on Mount Olympus
Where everyone has to be extraordinary -- all the time
I shall not forsake
My mortality --, which rests upon truth
For apotheosis founded upon deceit
To make a man a god
Which no man -- being human --
Can actually be
But though I have left Olympus
Olympus has not left me
Investors
Each one of them
As a teetering, avaricious, greedy Jew
Tear at my flesh
To get back every penny
Of the return they wish to hungrily devour
Of the investment they tenaciously hold
For the love they ruthlessly sold
Ah! But in the hands that tear and scratch
Is one which with a soothing lullaby
Had once rocked my cradle
Heu prisca fides!
The heart that bleeds, the blood it poureth
Cried out loud
Though none understood
I am but a man, sir
Neither great, nor good
Just a human, gentlemen
Nice gentlemen
Rich, fat, scornful gentlemen
Just a human gentlemen
Who needs love
In return for love