Loathe loves loser
Nor one will be a winner,
Triumph of a fruitless honor.
Cheers! From the angels of horror,
Throwing one’s heart in the mud.
Hail! Pitiful lad.
Loathe is a lover’s revenge
Against Cupid’s arrow range.
Inane, crude and pale heart,
The masterpiece of a mad art.
Applause!
Tears forsaking pause.
Loathe lingering,
A torpid wandering.
All obscure thralldoms
Of sham shabby royal kingdoms.
Call remises,
Goodbye heart’s aegis.
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