Everything is spoilt by use Perhaps, to your dismay, You will stand for my abuse And never slip away How your cup of autumn's wealth Will overflow the sky Pleasures all intangible An anthem soft and sly So put your tension on the string Echoing, a warning Fraught with fear and detached From all those gifts, sincere Trust, I'd spite to keep you near Everything is spoilt by use And soured with decay Still I stand for your abuse On prominent display And you could have the languid winds The harvest carols, clear But you'll accept the stillborn spring As long as I am here So you can sing your songs of red As crashing dawn comes swarming Dulcet-eyed as fever taxes What you broke; No reprieve from all bespoke Ever winter night (Soundless and yet, cloying) Set me free (Dear misery) Sing a song of red A long, unraveled warning Wayward one, how I liked you better On your own; Happiness is never home