Spices and Things

I would give you my advices If they weren't overpowered with spices And things. Believe me, I hold No control over these bold Statements I make, nor the clever Phrases and quips. I have never Told a story of my own imagination— No, 'tis the work of some abomination Running amok in our sad homes. They carry foreign, mysterious tomes Filled with ghastly images and Recipes for the witches' gnarly hands: Indeed, a witch would benefit from These outlandish ingredients, some So abhorrent I dare not say their Names aloud. But alas, they are, At the same time, wonderful items— Spices and things—bizarre and exciting: They provide a necessary embellishment To the newly made unintelligent— We call them newborns, for they eat all, So why not tell a story for them all, About dragons and knights and the blood Of the hopelessly valiant in the mud Where their decaying corpses lie. Spices and things—to show the fly That is shooed away by the fairy So that she may revive him and be merry. And all the world's a miser, but who Must know? We promise you will never know. Drink this, or eat that—it is delicious. None of it at all is remotely malicious. It is soul-cleansing and stomach-filling, Bad only for the vision you're killing, For who must know? It is not needed. Take root in the head I have seeded, O Truth, so flexible, so malleable, But not in the least detrimental. Truth likes spices and things, she does. Boys and girls, you and I, she loves, She feeds us, clothes us, kills us On the day we are called, the Day of Lust, When we fight for our afterlives, Be it Heaven, or Hell. It is a beehive Of swirling angels and demons That vie for our trust—daughters and sons, The parents care not, for Truth doe say, With much spices and things, that away, Up high or far below, both are right, Because both are eternal; both are a light.