If We Must Die, O Let Us

Upon The Clothes Behind The Tenement, That Hang Like Ghosts Suspended From The Lines, Linking Each Flat, But To Each Indifferent, Incongruous And Strange The Moonlight Shines.

I Know The Dark Delight Of Being Strange, The Penalty Of Difference In The Crowd, The Loneliness Of Wisdom Among Fools.

And, Hungry For The Old, Familiar Ways, I Turned Aside And Bowed My Head And Wept.

It's When You Are Down That You Learn About Your Faults.

Deep In The Secret Chambers Of My Heart I Muse My Life-long Hate, And Without Flinch I Bear It Nobly As I Live My Part.