A Different Man

What if today I say I'm Sam, not Ed, but Sam - a different man?

Will you be kind to that which blinds, that binds the lines of written sham?

You only know me; the Ed to be, the reverie, in history,

You only know Ed, the face, the head, embed the thread that Sam is dead.

The fear of the fact of how you'll react, compact, contracts the truth for act,

The worst part's I lied, for years I lied, derived; a tide to ride and sink,

A gift of pumice; a kiss of piss will not dismiss the hiss you'll voice,

And what if you're right; the plight, the flight of might of murder is all but delight?

Tomorrow I'll sort, contort, consort, resort to the thought that my name is bought,

But...

Today's the day I have to say I'm Ed, not Sam - a different man.