The Misfit Finds His Rebel Cause

The misfit finds his rebel cause.

Goes to war, defies all the laws.

How a ripe peach of which to pluck

Is the rebel’s cause loved so much.

I? I sit, also, misfit too

Unabashed from eternal youth.

My creative means dries so much

My country dies, the one I love.

Is the rifle my fated way?

To lose myself in coup d’é tat?

Will it suffice this longing heart?

Will I in glory play my part?

No! I say, in my angry gloom.

My vengeance shall be bloody noon.

I would rather let life depart

From my nostrils than play my part.

I will laugh at the wretched dogs

As my body swings o’er the logs.

I died, your hope for freedom last.

Because you’d not free me, I laughed.