A spring orchid, dazzling with dew
Whispers in the wind its fragrant song.
It opens its flowers to the sky
For the earnest sunlight can do no wrong.
What is your secret, oh sincere flower
Whose leafy arms cast shadows few?
Unlike the man who picks your stem
And plants it falsity anew?
To be Ernest is to be false;
A tropical orchid in the cold.
To call upon a false brother sick
Is to allow the soul to be sold.
My dear Algernon and John
Your blossoms are wilting, your secrets spilt,
But thanks to a handbag lost and found
Your lies are true; you’ve lost your gilt.
And Ernest finds his roots again
The spring orchid is renewed.
If I were sincere like Ernest was
Then I too would be bathed in dew.
I saw a friend of mine one lazy day
He had a lady friend upon his arm
Tis her, I thought, that stole his heart away
My love for him went sour, I wished him harm
I wove a horrid tale of secret love
To make his heart suspect the lady’s soul
I wove a horrid tale of death above
Her first man killed, her next one ’bout to go
It worked! The lady fled, her face all sad
The man was lost, his name filled full of sin
But oh! My evil mistake drove me mad
For twas my sister, found and lost again.
I loved no more for I killed not my foe
Scandals killed my man, sister and soul.
- Bobby Ren