IT is a Mariner of doom
Who upon the Guest does presume;
Wherefore stoppest thou me?
In the hall—look and see—
They’re marrying the Bride and the Groom!
The Guest heard the loud bassoon,
But was stuck with this grey-beard loon
Whose glittering eye
Made the Guest comply
And listen, like some dumb maroon.
The sweet life was coming along,
Like a heavenly angel’s song,
Or the sound of a flute;
But it all became moot
When I couldn’t deny what was wrong.
An example of anger? I’ll try:
Well, this one time, the shit went awry,
And two hundred men,
Time and again,
Kept cursing me with their dead eye.
Mariner, I fear thy eye,
But I’ll bargain to think death’s a lie;
Be calm, Wedding-Guest:
This is not just a test,
As you’ll see for yourself by and by.
A weary time! How glazed each eye—
Perhaps even wanting to die;
Turning to drink,
Or consulting a shrink,
Or oftentimes wanting to cry.
The moment that I could agree
That it’s over, then I could see
From a new point of view,
And the place where I grew
Hardly looked like mine own countree.
There’s this funny thing I go through:
I must tell some poor sucker doom’s true;
When his face I see,
I know who it will be,
And this time the sucker was you.
Having learned that the shit’s hit the fan,
The Guest had to change his life’s plan;
And he—stunned and forlorn—
Rose the morrow morn
A sadder and wiser man.