The Patriarch’s Lament

Fellow men, we gaze upon

A rather dismal breaking dawn,

The starting of a pinkish hour

Where sticks and stones have lost their power,

Where words can harm and looks can kill

And love is just “Netflix and Chill.”

Her lips that once you moved to kiss

Now move to bear you false witness.

That bed you’ve long longed to be in

Belongs to the procrustean.

The Goddess idol whom you praised

Commands her temple to be razed.

The deed is done, the seed is sown:

Take comfort in the silicone!

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