Oh, antiquarian expedition
Of mine, through whom I recline,
I have played against your own tradition,
Tried making merry with all your sunshine,
And in that all, I only expected
Such words that have been waiting to be said,
Yes, through such movements was I rejected?
For in your own faith you are better led.
A summoner of words so true to me,
When paths are set, there is less to be seen:
I must allow for the fight to set free,
And blue- or green- tell me what your eyes mean;
We cannot strive to cease the beating heart,
Instead we’ll let lies commit to the start.