if sighing on your chest i laid
and sought the beat of blood beneath,
if seeking solace, sick or afraid,
i crowned you with a thorny wreath--
you would not seek to take it off,
nor take the bond that comes innate?
the choice is clear and in the trough
the feed for hungry minds is bait.
we gather here and seek your hands
to stay the ills of wandering feet,
though common sense denies and bans
the hope that brings us here to meet.
should you be false the story's still good
and keeps us rooted where we stood.