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Hast thou got the booke? No? Buy it here


To the memory of François Villon, whose style I tried to graverob


I'm sick of sweet, sweet words of love
I'm sick of "skies so clear and blue"
I'm sick of "nightingale and dove"
I'm sick of "fair and dainty hue"
I'm sick of "dreams forever true"
I'm sick of "stars that shine like eyes"
I'm sick of "kind and pleasant lies"
I'm sick of "new and wondrous starts"
I'm sick of "beauty without dyes"
I'm sick of held and broken hearts.

I'm sick of bards that damsels sing
I'm sick of Eve and serpent's hiss
I'm sick of tireless Cupid's wing
I'm sick of thrones lost for a kiss
I'm sick of this empyreal bliss
I'm sick of woodland fairy's charms
I'm sick of sighing knights-at-arms
I'm sick fine alluring arts
I'm sick of herds and flocks and farms
I'm sick of held and broken hearts.

I'm sick of foolish petty play
I'm sick of oaths unworth a straw
I'm sick of ev'ry foul delay
I'm sick of clear gems with a flaw
I'm sick of a caressing claw
I'm sick of that so scowling sire
I'm sick of men in rich attire
I'm sick of time that only thwarts
I'm sick of my rage-rotten lyre
I'm sick of held and broken hearts.

Prince, I have been love's jest'r and bell
I played and sung my foolish parts
So that me wise you'd never tell:
I'm sick of held and broken hearts.

Leonardo Malcovati