Oh, never give a fool a crystal sphere

Short and poor, but sharp as a blade:
The only tongue he ever knew
Was the screech of a bird in pain displayed.

The world outside would twist and burn,
But one hard truth he never learned:
King of his trash-strewn, filthy yard,
Where ruling brought its grim reward.

He spat on love, on hearth's soft glow,
Built a throne from spit and foam.
He climbed the heap, crushed friends below,
To claim his throne of ash and bone.

Oh, never hand a fool a crystal sphere—
He'll swing it wild to drive the nail, I fear.
When all is smashed and deed is done:
No nail holds fast, the sphere is gone.

He seized the crown atop the pile,
Saw kings around him flash their grin:
Old roughnecks, fat with stolen guile,
Now laughing as they watch him spin.

Oh, never hand a fool a crystal sphere—
He'll swing it wild to drive the nail, I fear.
When all is smashed and deed is done:
No nail holds fast, the sphere is gone.**