OTHELLO!
If they keep beating those drums, minding my seal and my symbol,
There will be blood — and plenty gore,
Explains the throat that aches, the foot that’s sore.
A pirate sailor,
With so much at stake he must lay low.
What is it they put in those liquors?
See, he found himself waving at no one — hello,
All while playing a cello —
This ridiculous and serious figure, Othello.
Who’s once a peeping Tom,
And that’s why nowadays he heavily mourn.
The only thing he sees is a crowd of a million newspaper vendors,
Forming an unsuccessful rainbow.
They’ve got in them brains some rotten, piercing, and sucking ringworms.
They ain’t enough — it’s clear I need me more flavour,
In the lobby or parlour,
As everyone cuddles their pillows.
I’ve been singing this inside a silo,
Withstanding some persistent tremors,
Never looking back, no remorse.
As he closes his eyes every night, night!
Losing his sight,
No sleep,
And lips sealed.
His only true visions are the faces of ghosts he killed —
Destiny sealed.
And all the faces of women he condemned widows.
The devil is his in-law,
And he got this huge cash flow, cash flow.
I felt I was awakening as I rose…
Again!
I noticed and deduced
My accomplice is one hell of an introverted gringo.
With the purest form of an ego,
He eloped with my bride — her name is Virgo.
On an iron horse he rode —
Away!
It gallops,
Suddenly diminishing all his hopes.
Shameful and woeful fellow, Othello.
Sew something for him to wear, tailor.
Without much sense of humour,
He took another move simultaneously to the window and door.
Even if he could walk on foot to the Sept of Baelor,
He wouldn’t acknowledge the fact they’re gonna chase him to the depths in Mordor.
Clinical and cynical amigo,
Acrimonious and delirious Othello,
Flabbergasted yet agitated fellow.
A storm approaching the dock has forced me for weeks in limbo,
My ancient stopwatch ringing — ding, dingdong.
All the thoughts in my head and mind only go to the core,
And don’t mistake all this for some cheap and mere folklore.
I rather lay on my back on the sand,
In the gardens of my broken mirrors’ kingdom —
The place I played with the heads of two evil whores,
And won.
This dude Othello!
And as soon as he found himself no longer a fiasco in a disco —
Even deeper in a seven-foot dungeon,
He comfortably takes care of his beautiful peacocks and pigeons.
My core conspirators,
Just like where all abandoned.
They won’t crack and cooperate,
We track to attract,
I never aimed to earn the ticket for a seat inside that bandwagon.
