Tell me, why must life be met with my head bowed?
Why thank the wretched world to which I’m bound?
A world of noise too vulgar and too loud;
A world of sights repulsive thought profound,
(Of which the blind and deaf alone are proud)
In which all things true and beautiful are drowned.
I have no obligation to anyone.
Should I be grateful to the government –
Who, by definition, suppress my will?
Or pander to society that’s meant –
To stay my mind, and all that’s drab distil,
And who yet persists that a spirit spent –
Is nobler than the parchment and the quill?
I have no obligation to anyone.
For the curséd bond of mortality
And for a lifetime’s worth of servitude;
For a world that worships banality,
I’ll never bear an ounce of gratitude:
Except to death, to its finality,
For nothing here may come to any good.