The Seven Deadliest And All That

 

And do you have that dreadful place,

Where comforts care can find no trace,

When dreamless nights are nightmare cold,

And runes are cast where tales are told.

 

The cloven feet that trot behind,

And beat their pace into your mind,

Where stygian demons laud your fame,

And heap their praise upon your name.

 

The sin of pride may damn your soul,

And paint your heart as black as coal,

The lies we tell both black and white,

Will send us to eternal night.

 

Can gluttony the final feast,

Still tie us firmly to the beast,

While avarice that timely friend,

Will surely get us in the end.

 

And venting anger must be great,

For sealing firmly hope and fate,

A lapse to lust may set you free,

But does it make a better me.

 

If greed is bad tell me I’m wrong,

For I’m the singer of the song,

While advertisers write the words,

To pacify the envious herds.

 

But sloth has got me in its grip,

The steersman of my little ship,

A laurel bed my resting place,

A mendicant of pure disgrace.

 

I’ve counted seven maybe eight,

To each and all I can relate,

I don’t dispute I’ve seen my fall,

But tend to just enjoy it all.

 

But there’s the rub or so it seems,

They still come back to haunt my dreams

And somewhere in my dreadful place,

The smile is slipping from my face.

 

The trotting hooves are close behind,

And beat their rhythm in my mind,

The thing that follows counts each pace

And sets the mood for time and space.

 

If god there is, if god there be,

Forgive the sins of little me,

Thus be it said that I have tried,

And loved and lusted lied and died.