216. Poem – Hamelin

Prometheus may groan, bemoan his fate
But there is none more cursed than I
There is no breath that I may draw
There is no sight through my six eyes

My master, he’s an evil thing
Traveled from the devil’s land
He sings through me a magic song
That ensnares the hearts of men

I cried to warn them: “Flee, you fools!”
Not a sound the townsfolk heard
My master charmed ten scores of rats
And returned them to the dirt

What folly blinded the eyes and mind
Of those whose hands he shook?
My master was refused his rightful pay
By these scoundrels and crooks

My master picked me up again
And I had life upon his breath
I sang his song, he danced along
And led the children to their death


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