Sometime ago, when the horns of the wise were on sale,
I left my sanity in a bank vault and made love to a tale.
The tale had a lot to talk about.
It had passion,
And it had compassion
Brimming with a melancholy pout.
I like talks.
And I like walks.
And so, love for me fell.
And I had a story to tell.
That's the time I bought those horns on sale.
A pretty set they were - their sides a grisly pale.
Of course, I loved their sight.
Amidst all the stones at the marketplace
That chose to wear grey and asphalt,
These horns wore Pallour
As if it were a riot of colour.
I let them be happy
And got them to settle on my head.
That's when I realized
Happiness in me had gone dead.
That's when I abandoned the tale in Transylvannia
And ran from the sale.
I then broke into the vault,
Took with me my fault,
And now reside in Arabia.
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