What was once called art

Both love and foe

Became an egoistic thing

Darker than the deepest void

Of our human minds

And what depravity occurred!

O, how weeps my soul with remorse

At the cold, clammy hands of death

Of the dearest and truest of friends

For they took her by the arm

Thy mistress that is art

Without pity or thought

And stabbed her without piety

Through her weak and fragile heart!

Hark and listen, thee villainous

Serpentine fiend!

Does thy ego know no bound?

For the art has gone

And her remains lay buried

Until we find her meaning once more