Ingres's The Source
went for hire
to the highest bidder

(a real dry kidder
who only wanted him for a whim):

"Go blow up all the trains"

--sad, distant, passing rains
falling upon Desert's dust/brains--

"And we'll make lots-o-dough
(see'n as only you-&-I'll know)"

But, Nope! sang Flood-of-Fire
(pocketing The Bidder's cash)

That, with me, don't wash

& the successful Bidder
then inquired of Flood-of-Fire:

"But what the Hell'sa matter!?!
We'll make enough in it to swim
by peddling black-market water--"

O disgusted Flood-of-Fire
said then, Bitter & Mad:

This little catch cannot be had!
& played his lyre

(being the distant cousin of Sad
& Weary), O never could I hire, my deary,

for Such Crimes --Nor for Crime as such
--And no matter How Much...

said the Bidder, who was quite rich:

"You ain't even yet hear-ed for how much!"

But, Floor-of-Fire only switched to a higher Pitch
& Rush, and added with a little wink:

Also: I think you stink!

"--What!? Aren't you sure?..."

Go & ask your whoore!

"--But, let's be friends
& concentrate on Evil Ends..."

You just can't take clean water's Gush!

"Just sop it up!..."         

             & expire!?
O no: That ain't my kind-a Task!...

"--Hey, listen, pal, ye didn't ask
no questions when I paid yer Fare--"

--I had my throat into a beer

Never-the-less: You heard me clear:
It is my Song you so admire:

Don't let me There! Don't take me Here!...

sang Floor-of-Fire, sweet to his hire

"--No one'll know you (wear a mask)!"

Excuse, excuse...

"You're just too hot
this side Th'Border

under the splendor of Law & Order!
You maudlin moose!"

You're just a whoreder. [sic]

And the Bidder: "Rattle your Requiem!
I am your Noose!!"

giving him no further to reconsider.

You mean to tell me you wanna fight!?
(after my singing so sweet and spright)

said Flood-of-Fire without his choir
--But seeing the lowly Bidder
(being all wet)
took't for some further abuse

then Flood-of-Fire ripped out his lyre:

Hell, what's the use!...

burning his hire
with A Chord let loose
like Lightning from Fateful Zeus!

Then, in order to attract a second buyer
he built Himself a second pyre

&, right on top of it, he played his lyre
as sweet as innocence, sans Ire

again, making him Dear Pity admire--

& every stray love his Song's labor desire
he warmly sang to those cold bidders far & near

... Don't let me There! Don't take me Here!...
(--being no quitter

though no go-getter, either) like some Critter
in The Wilderness he called out & called out

for all those high-stake bidders
to have no doubts:

--I'll be your Flood!
You'll be my leaders & we will
burn (nothing slipshod)!

charming the roughest, cruellest ear

that gathered 'round for miles &
miles to drool & cheer
while he sang The Darkness, perfectly sincere:

Don't let me There! Don't take me Here!

to drown their merited Despair

with things much, much more rare & strange
than their own thoughts could spare

and The Unknown yet rear

--What, don't you buy it?