Woe! To this open grave, the trampled-on name,
All the wretched depths that society became.
To sing a song of someone else, a genuine song
That in selfless adoration does proclaim!
This must be the rarest of diamonds,
Finding the words for this song of someone else
And putting these words to the test
Of unworthy public scrutiny,
A public too wary of verse declaring mutiny!
Woe! To the bards, drenched in immortal pretension,
For whom all conscience is put on suspension.
Woe! To all unknown rebels of the pen,
For whom the press makes almost no mention.
To sing a song of someone else, is best
Because to sing a song of yourself
Is too universally personal
To pass a poetic litmus test.
