The ghost of Friedrich Nietzsche
Is angry that the raven he invited
To poetically cry "Woe to him
Who is without a home!" has escaped
And been replaced by a white crow.
He blames me, not without cause,
And challenges me to a duel. Since I
Cannot come, being an illusion,
I send the villain I might have been
Who questions Nietzsche: was that small scar
On your nose genuinely made by a sword?
Did you really escape from that situation
In a brothel by sitting at the piano
And playing improvisations for a roomful
Of angry clients and astonished whores?
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