Lame-legged Devil waddling through the ballroom doors.
How your May Gray scars summon that polymorphous side of you
In the way you linger on the young ladies and lords,
and that fancy you feel when gazing at your half-blood sister.
***
A clubfoot brand sears in every limp in your step
marking the place where paternal pacts had sealed your fate
Bound in hereditary Devilish sin, dear Lord
What an ugly wretch you are indeed!
***
We knew it well when we saw your father,
What a scandal of a rakish man he was
Handsome so to bed our finest women
But foolish as to gamble away mother's fortune!
***
What's the matter, don't like our loose tongues
What will you do then, cut them off your demon!
Just wait until the newspapers hear of this,
and every crier in the town is yelling your name.
***
All of us know when we see that congenital taint
revealed through your shambling gait
A permanent proof of your foul birth
Predisposed of hedonist stain
***
Just like Mad Jack back in the day
When he married Oseborne, and tainted her purity
But as they say, "sins of the father,"
What can we expect when seeing that lame wobble?
***
An ever-present sign of Asmodeus' contract
Evidence yet of your familial disease.
We know you, Byron, and we know your Byronia
Fell baron of foul deeds!