I don’t like a fatal end of any seizure,
Life never tires me, I am an honest bloke.
I never like a day, a week, a season, -
When I am sick, or in a heavy soak.
I hate when cynics are among my so called “betters”,
I hate exaltedness, nor do I like the cheek
When others try to read my private letters,
Over my shoulder peeking in the sneak.
I do not like to leave things uncompleted,
A conversation, when it is not frank,
I hate to see someone shoot those defeated,
No matter in the back or at point-blank.
I gossips hate, though dressed as mere assumptions,
Hate being in doubt, or lured into a morass,
Or brushed against my grain with certain gumptions,
Or hearing steel being scratched on a glass.
I hate to see people insolently trodden,
I would rather suffer if my breaks do fail,
I hate that HONOUR ‘s long ago forgotten
And honouring backstabbing does prevail.
When I see broken wings I feel no pity,
I would hate to get involved in à heist.
For me no violence, nor helplessness is pretty,
And horrible it was to crucify Christ.
I hate when people are undeservedly beaten,
Or forced by scare to lose their self-control,
Or when someone into my soul is spitting,
Or merely try to poke into my soul.
I don’t like any fighting rinks or ranges,
Where for a pence they promise you a quid.
Let optimists expect forthcoming changes, -
What I now see, I don’t like, God forbid!