Be It You

There’s a snake slipping round the slim ankles of men,
Slipping soft with a hissing and evil eyes set
On the hands all unknowing that clutch not a gun,
But paddle at ping-pong in innocent fun.

Yet, the muscles will tighten and pull the men down
Who are careless in giving their lives to a crown
Which will promise them safety and freedom from choice
Just as long as they listen to the hissing sly voice.

Yet, if one is not listening, one not transfixed,
One not in-taken by the fangs ‘neathe the lips,
Let that one be the true one you see in the glass,
Who will break it to cut up that snake in the grass!

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