I've managed somehow to condone all that I've done,
To forgive myself for my own sinning; But now comes a spectre who's forgiven me none And knows all I've done from the beginning. Conscience has taken a most unusual shape One that I find hideous and horrid An ugly long beetle swathed in a dark brown cape To remind me of all that was torrid This brown beetle appears from the depths of my mind Or so I could quite easily believe