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You are the cherry of the Beau Monde
You’ve got me all Widdershins
Pray should I tarry or abscond?
You’ve got me all Widdershins
Extravagant fancies scarper from my head
You’ve got me all Widdershins
It’s pensive embroidery that I retread
You’ve got me all Widdershins
Everything is running backwards
Into the hideous obscure
I used to be able to make out where I was going
But now I’m never really quite sure
My constitution is being pressed too close to the border
You’ve got me all Widdershins
I took off my socks, I took off my shoes, difficult order
You’ve got me all Widdershins
I tried six impossible things before breakfast
Skulking around in my tatterdemalion best
You found me in the candor of stupefaction
Blithering, lugubrious, and obsessed
It’s mystification without end
You’ve got me all Widdershins
Like a brace of scoundrels these riddles offend
You’ve got me all Widdershins
I’m under your spell, dazzled by your vague requirements
You’ve got me all Widdershins
Now I’m on my own, left to my scrappy retirements
And damn it, I’m still Widdershins
Robert Morris Black © All rights reserved.