SATAN'S TAUNT.

One is two, I'm telling you,
The truth is surely plain to see.

And two and three are five, it's true,
But not the way they're meant to be.

Four is four, not two plus two,
It can't be such an oddity.

Five is five, but three is too,
You have to view them properly.

Well, six is six, like pickup sticks,
But seven is three, it has to be.

And eight is seven, inbetwixt,
So nine minus six is nothing, not three.

If you can't see, your mind's too strict,
Your memory, is not the key.

You have to look at four, five, and six,
You mustn't think, you have to see!

Know you nothing more I dread,
Than to pass th'entire year,
Shedding naught but hair from head?
Yet not a single precious tear!

An eternity of days and nights,
Shall be ours in the afterlife,
And freely shall it be our right,
But not without a certain price.

A price is paid, in memories,
Of how life was, and could have been,
Viewed once before, then forever after,
Before in sorrow and in laughter.

After this we pay a price,
Review our lives here more than twice.
Longing so that, while living,
We had shared the more our giving.

For naught else can we but receive,
The passages of memory,
And ever though we thus complain,
We have no chance to give again.