The Pasquinade of Life

I am the Mozart of my name And I wait for you my Je’amour To paint the parfai’d affair And cross the fur elise of time O vogue of vogues Love is written in visions of glory Even where the vogues of fate do not rescind Nor can my sorrows un nascent This is my golden Gilgamesh The epic of my holy phobia The triumph of a poet king What is the pasquinade of life? I have heard Arabic tongues confess The heart of liberty knows no tyranny Therefore give death his due and I shall be a king For thus one shekel of her love I do not tauntalize the vampires of my soul Whom rest not nor woe upon the nails of war Therefore, I unleash the Venus of my tongue For I am Ghetto pale with words O, shazzar shalom, with a kiss, shazam! And there shall be peace in Jeruslaem. No Mona Lisa smile shall touch my sorrow Nor cliché my love with roses pale For this affair is more elegant than Paris at night They say at night even poets fall in love on the riviera I monsieur, in dream of tyranny Triumph in the tombs of love Thus I awe with jealous rage Sweet nymph of ordinary revenge I am the villain of my own heart Au revoir O! ghost of sorrow so bequeathed I fancy some curiosity embraced with orthodox misconception I drink to the elysian in your eyes Thus I devise upon the forge of time My soul aghast with ravishment What romance then of poets makes When their vogues have thus incensed? I shall vanquish these professed libertines In bondage and in passion For I loved a Grecian girl of exquisite lace With agarazo eyes She is magnificent Her tongue is a blasphemy of gothic love She is absolutely absolute in beauty This is the genius of the French noir Nights in white satin will thus confess my ravishment For I was born in Toulon. A fiend aflame in the vogue of suffering Pass me some gothic and I’ll open your eyes Beauvoir my mon cheri As you blush like last summer’s rose Make love to me in my ancient castle of romaunt For I am vexed with Aramaic memories; As I gasp and sigh upon the memory of the cross This is my exquisite sunas For even the voguest Byzantium desert is filled with sand And Zion shall romance me! The camels are on the horizon O! exquisite sands of love I thrall the chains of fate Because For her beauty I am ego vain Just like Picasso, I am a fiend for simplicity I shall ascend in death For She loves my gothic forte the slow thought of public vows Brings me to my knees Beneath the cross eternally No vogue of broken hearts to break For in death we kiss the scars of fate Bethralled in tongue thy hand has touched When I have put the hand upon the eyes My sweet fatigue! Let not mine eye bethrall the tongue of truth For one rose shall hint that summer wakes One rose in death shall not forsake Its hue of loveliness Therefore A kiss of tet a tete and Paris is mine Your lips move geniusly As you dominate my heart When All romaunt is crucified Revenge not the sorrow which I must indulge for This masquerade of innocence is my les miserables for I am a gentleman of thy kisses Madam, a lunatic of such mundane Shall languish in the void of fame One shekel for a grain of sand And Yet She conquered me like Paris at night Who is the connoisseur of love? Ah sweet romance! Now I have the lute of paradise For even a goddess can break a king Her name is lady Liberty!