Isn’t It Byronic?

“So, Emily, what do you do for fun?”
“Oh, I like to write witty and/or disturbing song spoofs.”

During a lunchtime conversation with Bethany, I used the word “Byronic.” I was talking about my dream to become an Avenger, but how since, I’m a terrible person, I should just aim for “supervillain” instead. (Hey, this is the chick who went into The Avengers for Captain America, and left a Loki fangirl.) Bethany helpfully pointed out that superheroes aren’t necessarily “good” all the time. So when I brought up “Byronic heroes” she started to crack up and said that would make a hilarious spoof of Alanis Morisette’s “Ironic.”

So I wrote the spoof today. I had some help from Joy—she wrote the first two lines of the chorus. The rest is mine, except for the parts in quotes, which are from Byron’s actual 1814 poem, “The Corsair.” The syllables don’t match up perfectly, but it still works with the format of the song. I don’t know if this has been done before, but I’m still proud of it.

An old man turned thirty-eight.
He married much too young to a wife he’d hate;
Fell in love with a nanny in a trick of fate.
She loved him back but it was much too late,
And isn’t it Byronic…don’t you think?

The man himself, for reference. Isn’t he broodtastic?

It’s like rain on the moors each day.
It’s a free bride when you’re already laid.
It’s an Angel with no soul to his name.
And who would have thought they’re bitter?

The great scientist hoped to be good—
High ideals, but he was misunderstood.
His cocktails gave him a splitting headache.
When evil prevailed, he knew his mistake,
And isn’t it Byronic…don’t you think?

It’s like rain on the moors each day.
It’s a free bride when you’re already laid.
It’s an Angel with no soul to his name.
And who would have thought they’re bitter?

“That man of loneliness and mystery,
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh…”
“Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
From all affection and from all contempt..”

A genius composer who hates the diva;
A pirate and thief who still does what is right;
A bootlegger pines for the love of his life,
Finally finds her again,
She’s another man’s wife.
And isn’t it Byronic…don’t you think?
A little too Byronic … and yeah, I really do think…

It’s like rain on the moors each day.
It’s a free bride when you’re already laid.
It’s an Angel with no soul to his name.
And who would have thought they’re bitter?

“Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
From all affection and from all contempt…”