It was my fault you lost your job;
I must have been some pointy-hatted
Sorcerer who had bewitched you,
So of course you laid into me.
In those days you were the temple

Where I knelt, a jar of Instant God;
A God! A God! A God who didn’t
Spare the rod. I loved you
Then, you bastard, you rat,
The bastard that chewed through my heart

Then spat. Somehow I loved the boot
In the belly, the fist in my face,
Like being hit by a train,
Or a heavy metal chain; it meant I
Was really being noticed.

Then one night, my love drained away
And you metamorphosed into
My jailer; you stood there towering,
Like Zeus, jackboots on the earth; a
Swastika tattoo transformed you
­
Into the you that was you.
What could I do, my Lover, my Prince,
​Except embrace chemical hugs
And prescription drugs
At the usual price?

But I wanted to step on a
Land-mine. Imagine me going up
In pieces like Humpty-Dumpty,
Then me in bits scattered over
The wet clay of Auschwitz like

Litter; that would give the
Jews something to do.

So, my Darling, my Precious,
My Sweet:
Having no hope,
I chose the rope.