T'was a-part from Open Secrets we Know
Yet still be a-lack from Facts to Dissect
Which, if our Business invest your own Show
Then sacrifice our Virtues and Respect
That, by the Mum for her Tolerance bear
That, by the Dad his Spirit I imbue
Will you bill me Insane for all that I Dare
Which beyond Soul my Spirit can't Construe
Why then, the Mute? Or Conspiracy at least
Waiting for Knives in their Right Turn to Fly
With my Reasons despite your Success I Feast
Whilst my own must Nurture then by and by.
To Realise, between the Fan and the Freak
Toss Thirty-Six Years my own Strength be Weak.
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