A Ballad of Quasimodo

Heart and mind a separate creature Disparate in every feature Matched and mirrored, evil twins And this is where our play begins
Heart a mass of nerves, emotions Torn to shreds by its devotions Formed of naught but pain and yet Without it things are worse, I fret
The mind, contrariwise, a tool It scorns each man around as fool ‘Tis sharp, incisive, bland, and dull There’s little left with feelings culled
Now separate the two and see The muss, the mass, the mess that’s me Now hide the heart away and find The wasteland that is left of mind
The mind now enters at stage left It shambles when of heart bereft It tries to build while heart destroys But without heart, why make the ploys? It tires fast with heart so hurt But resting cannot death avert
The heart makes its debut on stage It shrieks in pain and fear and rage It sobs and claws itself and twists And digs its nails into its fists ‘Til visage matches wounds inside Now let the heart go run and hide Oh, don’t you see, onlooker, dear The tragedy that happens here? For without both, the body dies Yet each a sight to cause sore eyes
This is an ending of a kind Shakespearean for heart and mind But tell me now another tale Of their reunion whole and hale