A bold man whose spine is straight,
He’s got a lot to see—don’t get in his way.
Some say that he’ll go the Charon way
With the death-row warden who’s also first mate.
Isn’t he Byronic, don’t you think?

He likes danger. . .no fretting ways,
He will deride those with dread and afraid,
He has good lad vice when he struts on the make,
A hugely heroic figure.

Mr. Place It Safe, well, it ain’t this guy.
He packs his suitcase—he travels all the time,
Voyaging like a madman through darkest night.
His face shows brashness. . .frowns at thoughts
Of acting like mice.
Now, isn’t that Byronic, don’t you think?

He likes danger. . .no wetting ways
Asleep at night, and so, dry the bed stays.
He has good lad vice when he struts on the make
A hugely heroic figure.

Well, death has a crummy way of sneaking up on you,
Even when you’re a heroic figure and chock-full of might.
The “life saving” techniques that “doctors” employed back then
Were most definitely wrong, a vestige that came from Middle Age.

Like a magic plan that’ll make you feel great. . .
They coax from your mainline the red fluid opaque.
Then these med-sounding loons keep bleeding you with a knife—
From the now-feeble man, red streams.
Loses his last fleeting chance at life.
Now, isn’t that Byronic, don’t you think?
A little too Byronic.
If the vein had just been kinked!

Down the drain in a wetting way
Went the sweet life fluid—all wicked away.
They thought: good advice, but they made a mistake
A juice-that-has-been-stripped figure;
The dude: eponymic figure—
And isn’t that ironic, don’t you think?

Death has a crummy way of sneaking up on you,
Life without blood just ain’t the way of helping you out. . .
Healthiness rout.