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To bare his proud breast
To the dagger is best,
With a sorrowful look in his eyes,
But he still hears the sniggers
Of the cowardly figures
Who hastened his sudden demise.
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But the sour pill is swallowed,
Procedures are followed,
And he exits in dignified fashion.
And he feels such a fool
To abide by this rule,
But tradition says smother his passion.
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But he’s fallen upon a
Sharp dagger with honour,
Accepting his undeserved guilt.
But will they lose sleep,
Those whose actions cut deep,
Causing innocent blood to be spilt?