Invictus (According To Fagin) Poem by Sailing to windward

From dark deceit where cleverly
I wily steer my selfish goals
I thank my wit for saving me
the fruitless pain of braver souls

I swerve the clutch of circumstance
Whilst others wince and cry aloud
I dodge the bludgeoning of chance
My head intact and safely bowed

Beyond this place - a coward's lair
there looms the shade of more charades
and through my ruse and threatening air
divert the pistols and the blades

It matters not how you see fate
I slyly stay in firm control
I am the master of the fake,
I am the beggar at your bowl

(with thanks to Mr Henley, may he forgive me)