went for hire
to the highest bidder
(a real dry kidder
who only wanted him for a whim):
"Go blow up all the trains"
--sad, distant, passing rains
falling upon Desert's dust/brains--
"And we'll make lots-o-dough
(see'n as only you-&-I'll know)"
But, Nope! sang Flood-of-Fire
(pocketing The Bidder's cash)
That, with me, don't wash
& the successful Bidder
then inquired of Flood-of-Fire:
"But what the Hell'sa matter!?!
We'll make enough in it to swim
by peddling black-market water--"
O disgusted Flood-of-Fire
said then, Bitter & Mad:
This little catch cannot be had!
& played his lyre
(being the distant cousin of Sad
& Weary), O never could I hire, my deary,
for Such Crimes --Nor for Crime as such
--And no matter How Much...
said the Bidder, who was quite rich:
"You ain't even yet hear-ed for how much!"
But, Floor-of-Fire only switched to a higher Pitch
& Rush, and added with a little wink:
Also: I think you stink!
"--What!? Aren't you sure?..."
Go & ask your whoore!
"--But, let's be friends
& concentrate on Evil Ends..."
You just can't take clean water's Gush!
"Just sop it up!..."
O no: That ain't my kind-a Task!...
"--Hey, listen, pal, ye didn't ask
no questions when I paid yer Fare--"
--I had my throat into a beer
Never-the-less: You heard me clear:
It is my Song you so admire:
Don't let me There! Don't take me Here!...
sang Floor-of-Fire, sweet to his hire
"--No one'll know you (wear a mask)!"
"You're just too hot
this side Th'Border
under the splendor of Law & Order!
You maudlin moose!"
You're just a whoreder. [sic]
And the Bidder: "Rattle your Requiem!
I am your Noose!!"
giving him no further to reconsider.
You mean to tell me you wanna fight!?
(after my singing so sweet and spright)
said Flood-of-Fire without his choir
--But seeing the lowly Bidder
(being all wet)
took't for some further abuse
then Flood-of-Fire ripped out his lyre:
Hell, what's the use!...
burning his hire
with A Chord let loose
like Lightning from Fateful Zeus!
Then, in order to attract a second buyer
he built Himself a second pyre
&, right on top of it, he played his lyre
as sweet as innocence, sans Ire
again, making him Dear Pity admire--
& every stray love his Song's labor desire
he warmly sang to those cold bidders far & near
... Don't let me There! Don't take me Here!...
(--being no quitter
though no go-getter, either) like some Critter
in The Wilderness he called out & called out
for all those high-stake bidders
to have no doubts:
--I'll be your Flood!
You'll be my leaders & we will
burn (nothing slipshod)!
charming the roughest, cruellest ear
that gathered 'round for miles &
miles to drool & cheer
while he sang The Darkness, perfectly sincere:
Don't let me There! Don't take me Here!
to drown their merited Despair
with things much, much more rare & strange
than their own thoughts could spare
and The Unknown yet rear
--What, don't you buy it?