How dare I laugh and play a game?
How dare I look for pleasure?
I'm selfish, starving for my glut,
a pig by any measure.
And no-one in the world (apart
from ev'ry other devil)
would dare to grin at idle thoughts
or close his eyes and revel.
For open eyes would see the stains
upon his merrymaking.
With ev'ry feast, a thousand starve.
We're cruel to not be aching.
Our joy is local, hoarded here;
we drakes adore our gold.
And dragonslayers, though they fight,
are killed for being bold.
But even now, apologetic,
I confess to smiling.
My verse — pretentious, pithy tripe —
delights me in its styling.
So I'm a monster. I confess.
Now burn me with the lumber.
But add a bit of hickory;
the other monsters hunger.