Arnaz
Is there a difference, I ask,
Between the journalist and the vicar,
Who preach eternal doom
While the masses bicker?
And would I be a vicar?
To preach and teach and show
The damnings of mankind
While the masses grow?
Would I be a communist?
Awaiting the rise of day
To finish the histories of old
And move onwards and away.
Or a soldier marching to war,
Draped in virginal beige
To bring the glad tidings
Of old men in old age
Perhaps a nun I would be
Wrinkled, chaste and wise
To flee from all men
Until my very demise
There are a great deal many things
I suppose I could be,
But that is charged to the heavy hand
Of destiny.
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