Bishonen

I was born in the town of Paisley in early 1960

And placed in the care of an old eternal bachelor

A strict disciplinarian, a passionate antiquarian

His collection of myths and legends was spectacular

As a younger man he'd been to see Japan

Where a master in a white kimono taught him

In a shining moment the myth of the bishonen

The youthful hero doomed to fall like blossom

And how could I forgive the ugly fugitive

Who brought me up according to a fantasy?

For when the old man stared at me

He drowned in evil beauty

Thinking of the early death in store for me

He taught me to be good with words, he bought me ceremonial swords

And in this way came grace and expertise

The words were to cut down and to kill the muscle-bound

The swords to fell my intellectual enemies

And women should be hated but first impersonated

Charm, he said, is essential to misogyny

He taught me how to woo the girls in order to outdo the girls

And the fun would come when I'd got them to love me

And how could I resist the old misogynist

Who brought me up according to a fantasy?

My softness and fragility

My feminine grace and delicacy

Made death himself afraid for me

And so in time I grew to be blond and beautiful

Pale and frail, with many male admirers

I was promised by my father a retainer for a partner

So loyal that nothing could divide us

Shocked by my suggestion that I'd rather have a woman

My stepfather replied I had no choice

This man would cut his entrails open protecting his bishonen

He informed me in a solemn, trembling voice

How could I disobey that surreptitious gay

Who brought me up according to a fantasy?

For when the old man stared at me

He drowned in evil beauty

Thinking of the early death in store for me

So me and my retainer encountered many dangers

On travels through the North and through the South

We ripped open the bellies of many famous bullies

And our reputation spread by word of mouth

In the mountains of Morocco we stopped and shared a bottle

With a blind old man with a bearded, bandaged face

And though the Sun had sunk and the man was very drunk

He seemed to speak with my stepfather's voice

Saying 'How could you forget the ageing martinet

Who brought you up according to a fantasy?

Your softness and fragility

Your feminine grace and delicacy

Will be the death of me'

Surprised at 28 to find myself so late

Changing from a boy into a man

I'm starting to feel guilty that nobody has killed me

Early as my stepfather had planned

I've found myself a girl and stopped roaming the world

My retainer's gone to be a mercenary

Now I work in a merchant bank, well-liked by the senior ranks Though behind my back the Juniors can me fairy

And how can I placate the ugly reprobate

Who brought me up according to a fantasy?

For when the old man stared at me

He drowned in evil beauty

Thinking of the early death in store for me

I stay awake some nights when my wife turns off the lights

And starts breathing regularly next to me

And I think of fallen petals and bodies pierced by metal

And how I'll never now fulfil my destiny

Father spare my shame, let me pass my name

To a boy with greater beauty and more bravery

For if I have a son I'm going to raise him to die young

And lay him in the grave that you prepared for me