Thoughts run dry as all sensation leaves,
a voidless mass floating through the days
leaving nothing but a bloody haze.
The vision fades as man feels
loss. What cruel world banishment brought
with all of its beautiful decorations, still
it chills as a winter without its fill.
Do you not know? You caused this draught.
Be gone! Man has had enough, leave him to writhe
on his own. Cease your endless torment.
Away, for he will always resent
your presence, daunting the very fibers inside him.
Return to the Mt. Parnassus where you belong,
to the muses that await unfulfilled with your absence.
Linger no longer to torture mortal mens senses.
You have done enough harm with the charm of your song;
curves blended with movement to birth the harmony,
intonation and pitch resonate from the pools of your eyes,
and rythm made to drive living men's minds to die.
Helen herself wrote then taught you the words of this villany.
Leave man for he is better without, there are women to have
and muses he could do without! You did not tread softly
for his dreams are crushed firmly and world left poorly
with the havok upon it you reaked. Now this command man has:
and I say go foul beast for man will be set free.