Only the Obscure Is Sure

Which man is ever secure, When he’s no longer obscure Or sticks to Normal Strife While it’s a New World of knife Or hangs to Clean Lifestyle Amidst pressures from Dirty Guile Or weird aches has none to cure Showing that he’s been The Pure? Who, indeed, has been intact: A public figure, No Tact? Who doesn’t know he can sink Or in the limelight just shrink, As he keeps with The Great a link, His lips obliging Best drink … I should in some scared chair coil And from swift touches recoil And with perfect anger boil, Ordering calming whisky For walks becoming risky, Sure that they would my treasures loot And as gladly poor me shoot.