Some people tan,
Some people ripen,
Some people laugh at the lamest of jokes, and

Some people seethe
While others let go,
Even when gripped by the frost of deep woe.

Some people tan,
Some people ripen,
Some people dance to the sun that has blessed them.

Some people bleed
At the thrust of a blow
After the wound’s healed up, all for show.

But you, by the sun or the moon and the stars,
Cloudy or clear, whether happy or scarred,
Pray to the gods for the sight of all men
Just to learn love and to love once again.

Hypocrites, traitors, the liars we know:
All we who sneer at the sight of their show,
Spat on and cursed by we moral folk;
But to you, brethren, and pity their yoke.

Sympathy comes and sympathy goes
Like the flip of a mob at the will of a show,
Hating and heckling, skies to the nose!
But to you, my beloved, this is what you bestow:

Some people tan,
Some people ripen,
But the villain in me is the villain in you.