The Pedestal of life,
a just and fair device.
Depicting best from least,
praising Saint, shunning beast.
Raise me from this wet mud,
for sinner is not of my blood.
Erect me high in your sights,
shove me in your admiring lights.
Isn’t that for what the Pedestal’s there?
To be just and purely fair?
Then why upon your highest seat,
do you hold a liar, deceiver and cheat.
A sanctimonious, slimy fraud,
who at your soul has maliciously gnawed.
This is a person who could maim your gaiety,
disgrace and exploit your family.
Yet always the gold encrusted throne,
the pinnacle of your mounting stone,
remains kept for the mordant one,
your moon at night, your dawning sun.
And me, where am I seated?
My rightful chair, I’ve been cheated.
Soul of mercy, heart of virtue.
Never would I deliberately hurt you.
But life isn’t painted fair and just
and try as I might, try as I must,
I know the height of your Pedestal tree,
shall never rightly belong to me.