By MARTY FELKER
Once more his fingers tear away at stone,
And soon he will have fashioned forth a heart.
He is mad, he is mad who pierces bone.
How dare you dream in tunes I don't condone?!
You'll learn a sober fugue will make you smart!
Once more his fingers tear away at stone.
Not cloth will bear the wear of years outgrown,
But cars that fail a boy's a boy's first start.
He is mad, he is mad who pierces bone.
If only his son, before flight, had known
How density in flying plays a part!
Once more his fingers tear away at stone.
Young Zeus would laugh to hear the virgins moan;
His father smiled; conception had been tart.
He is mad, he is mad who pierces bone.
With pain grows love that dying hate has sown.
Forgive the words a turning soul must cart.
Once more his fingers tear away at stone.
He is mad, he is made who pierces bone.
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