If

The emblem of my sovereignty, A dagger through a heart. The sovereignty of incarceration, A flight over an aery dell. The incarceration is as a royal charter In the fidelity of a vendetta. At noonday, the words purporting A coarse tumult of the local milieu, In the sea of ethereal bitterness. And, there is no one more to impress! If but some pallid fairy would reach, For the cavern missed by the dagger, If but some grey wolf would save me, From this agony in the pavilion of orbs, Then as avenged as a lonesome beggar I’d dare to plot a different course. If but some fate trader would put hope On the beam scale to judge a chance, If but the One could say yes to me I would tango for two, or any dance.