This life is my laboratory
In my quest to turn lead to gold.
To ennoble what was ordinary
By any means however bold.
A witches’ brew is boiling
In the kettle of my brain
Yet the alchemist is toiling,
Whatever he earns for his pain.
Yet again the potion goes awry
As the piping starts to hiss
Already he thinks of another try,
Just as soon as all has gone amiss.
The tubes shatter in an explosion
Yet again he is about to start afresh.
For now he has to bear the lesion
Of yet another burn upon his flesh.

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