O, Why hath god forsaken me, Tis but dust in thy wind

I recommend this piece be read to the beat of a cowbell. When will ye olde fair be free Of days likened to Beelzebub’s tea Is it but a pittance? Is it but a tear? Twould seem hate is but whim And starlight ever dim So close now is the oppressor grim Why must years be passing rain, Chance like yonder train? Are fables your tightrope, myths your dare? Break chance forthwith, balance without care Now tender thy flock to see that in stock But forever unseen is that which is green There is no truth more true, they say with great sigh But in truth and lie there is that blatant tie Seize fate, seize hate, seize that with fading light Take sin, take angst, take temptation laced with plight Carry it now to depths of jumbled mind There lay the answer, and inner peace you may find Like diamonds in your hand is that sound in your ear Merely data making clatter and a solitary tear A tear from Metallica, opposers of free sound Garter your blessings and net crimes abound Shield your vitals from the ominous Krauk Who seek retribution for these words on Metalk Can’t find words that rhyme with Krauk Malk, yalk, qualk, embalk So here end this tale of sight and sound I wish this poem was worth one pound