So this is the knowledge of good and evil
How sorry that art is his only comfort
On whose altar he offers pieces of his heart
Stewed in regret over a quiet flame
Line by line he makes bitter lemonade
For his transgressions seem yellow lemons
Grown in an Edenic garden
Plucked unripe from a forbidden tree
And rubbed over and squeezed
On the fresh wound that is realizing
That under the burden of dreams
The seams of reality come undone
Now he is laid bare with nothing left to hide
If only he could trample the serpent in the brush
And win back the eve before the new year is come
For after the rains have come and gone
Who would ever care for a dam?
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