What's O'Clock/A Rhyme out of Motley
A RHYME OUT OF MOTLEY
"I grasped a thread of silver; it cut me to the bone—I reached for an apple; it was bleak as a stone—I reached for a heart, and touched a raw blade—And this was the bargain God had made For a little gift of speech Set a cubit higher than the common reach, A debt running on until the fool is dead."
Carve a Pater Noster to put at his head As a curse or a prayer, And leave him there.