If you gaze at stars all night,
Weeping grieves you dare not name.
If from thyself you seek oblivion,
As from the hope you now forsake!
Then search no more in shallow cups
For an answer that rings true,
Scotch won’t do it, and beer sucks,
Mark my words: hemlock is the thing for you.
Socrates was a great man, good and wise,
And for that reason he got sacked.
Well, rather than argue and suffer fools,
He took the boiling cup, and his foes were smacked.
I’ve seen you fret over love and sweet bliss,
That immortal bond that defies Men’s wit;
Bogus, I tell you, not worth a rat’s piss,
Better drink your poison now, and get it over with.
Some recommend cyanide, a poison that’s more foul,
They say it’s sooner done, but that’s just plain jurassic.
Others pick a bullet, or simply slice their throat;
As for me, it’s hemlock; what can I say? I love a classic!
