The Worry In My Sorrow

Never again would I feel sorry To tell my story, to spell my worry Heightened, brightened up by glamour Felt deep within the heel of my clamour. Never again would I open my heart To depart from love, to make a new start Although I’d pluck up courage to lay siege To prospects of a binge or the liege of privilege. Never again would I dare to speak In tongues or my tongue to click or flick If a damsel my head in awe should turn Although in end my heart she would burn. Never again would the lure of honey Blind me to trade my soul for money When banknote rolls in my face shine Although my soul sorrow would refine.