All this time I’ve been sinning,
an unknown will was winning
I wreathe my own self with regret.
It was ever this way, beginning
To end, where the word innings
Is used by Englishmen in debt
To euphemisms, tongue-pinning;
Now their relevance is thinning,
Notes on a plummeting language.
When they say ‘
he had a good innings‘,
This means dutybound death’s spinning
Through the roof of our anguish.
Yellowfin bellies, sashimi de-finning,
Abbatoir beating-belts are skinning
But sin is how I’m scarred by a knife.
All this time, ever since my sinning,
That devil down there may be grinning,
My inheritance is only my life.