The Traitors

Them with overhanging brows
Are the traitors to ourselves
Who hang with dauntless breast
And sail a ship of gossip

Tingles of pride in them full
Who cling under the yoke of disgust
And perambulate with red painted lips
Fashioned above rejection.

Encircle and hang around you
Like weevils in the rice field
Letting warm emotions run your heart
You will only but fall for it.

Then they’ve got all their needs
And once your haunting dreams perished
And you wangle all along them
To puff and sail along.