Spy Wednesday Blues

One dip into my deep and churning urn of perfidy,
and I'd come up with several friends and lovers to betray -
but I don't have the hour for that sour symphony,
or the rituals of treachery that mark this special day.

It seems that I can't get my mind to labor, or to rest -
It seems there are no vacancies, and quite a while to wait.
It seems I'm aging out of being at my very best:
It seems I'll have to fight to keep this job I've grown to hate.

Today is set aside for a peculiar meditation.
Today's a day it's best to stay away from clarity:
Between the quisling and the quitter, who's more fit for condemnation?
Can selling out and giving up be forms of charity?

It seems that I can't get my mind to labor, or to rest -
It seems there are no vacancies, and quite a while to wait.
It seems I'm aging out of being at my very best:
It seems I'll have to fight to keep this job I've grown to hate.

I dream about Judecca every day for forty nights -
The Fallen One is weeping sheets of ice, and breaking wind.
He never seems to see me, which is why I can't decide
if I am passing through, or there for keeps, as Judas is.

It seems that I can't get my mind to labor, or to rest -
It seems there are no vacancies, and quite a while to wait.
It seems I'm aging out of being at my very best:
It seems I'll have to fight to keep this job I've grown to hate.

My Beatrice is a girl I loved who did not know my mind.
My Vergil is a rumpled sage tobacco could not slay.
My Beatrice says they lie when they say cruelty can be kind,
but my Vergil says revisionists will have the final say.

It seems that I can't get my mind to labor, or to rest -
It seems there are no vacancies, and quite a while to wait.
It seems I'm aging out of being at my very best:
IT seems I'll have to fight to keep this job I've grown to hate.