I once wrote a verse
A verse about innocence
And filled it, in regretful days
With kitsch self-loathing, cheap cliches
I harped on adolescent themes
To change the past, so was my dream

What of innocence, what of guilt?
To spread rumor, character assassination
Should I be damned, by a would-be actress?
Should time and forgetfulness bring redemption?

What is that so-called innocence?
But that moral high ground
Used as a rouse for whatever you choose
Embossed in myth and religious strife

Am I the devil when compared
To the cronies of kickbacks and orange liars
What innocence professed on high
By social corporate patronizers

There are no saints, the better man
When pushed to walls, does what he can
When hypocrites seek recompense
Innocence yields little sense

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