A friend, a follower, never a believer

Knives thrusting about, Brutus and Caesar

One full of trust and established faith

Whispering in the night, a wandering wraith

Cloaked under the robe of a virtuous friend

Fate will find him at a road dead end

His word becomes weak, the sick and elderly

Heart breaks away soft no more nor tenderly

Talk is cheap, but money finds him in corruption

Not thinking of his action, a volcanic eruption

He is deep down dark, like a lost abyss

Arrows of cupid never hit always miss

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