Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the ‘hood of the night,
What immortal hand or club
Could frame thy fearful nub?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine own lies?
On what wings dare she aline?
What hand dare seize the iron?
And what shoulder and what bar
Could twist the medal of thy car?
And when thy head began to dredge,
What dread hand held that wedge?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When thy mate threw down her spear,
And water’d heaven with her tear,
Did she smile her work to see?
Did He who made the gal make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the neighborhood of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry
I did one too, the first day!
(With apologies to William Blake)
Tiger! Tiger! Burning bright
Did go cheating in the night,
What immortal hand of eye
Could slice thy handsome symmetry?
So what distant skanky thighs
Caught the corner of thine eyes?
In what hotel dare thee aspire?
Which golf glove dare seize the fire?
And what sneaking, lying art
Could twist a loyal Swedish heart?
And when that heart thee did break,
What dread anger did thee shake?
Why the 9-iron? Why this pain?
In what brothel was thy brain?
What the swing? What dread grasp
Dare thy Caddy rear door clasp?
When thee dashed down driveway lane,
And watered bloody in thy pain,
Wiped your eyes, the hydrant to see?
Did thee even see that tree?
Tiger! Tiger! Burning bright
Did go cheating in the night
Twas her rejected hand or eye
Who sliced and hooked thy symmetry.