Fatal Flaw

Fatal Flaw

He built his house by common law,
and made a bed of burning straw;
he rubbed his bloody wound to raw;
he made her love his fatal f law.

His leg was lamed to twisted gimp;
he loved to pose his famous limp;
his heart was his Achille 's heel
to hide something he did not feel.

He wrote a book, he sang a song
about a life that went all wrong;
he craved the pain she offered him,
he claimed his fate was mean and dim.

He lived to die a poet's death,
imploring her with final breath
to take the dust his life must yield
and put it down in potter's field.

His eye was blind, his spine was weak;
he lied each time he tried to speak.
He stacked the deck before the draw,
to force the ace, his fatal f law.