The Wanderer

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Dead Mass

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I left the house one morning intent on self-destruction
There was nothing for me anyway
I wandered away that September morning, ragged clothes, and stingy rations
There was nothing for me anyway
I squandered my life in dereliction, wearing caprice like a scarlet letter
There was nothing for me anyway
Our roof caved in
My progeny are lewd and vile
There's nothing left to eat
The dirty pigs, they have a better share
Years of sojourn taught me well: one day I returned
Savouring familiar sights and familiar smells
Yearning for such homely bread and iridescent wine
Even when forgiveness came, still I wandered on
Still I wandered on
Still I wonder
Vagrancy's Sin
Over hills and valleys, wander
The swamps took me in
They sank the same way that I did

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