Sorrow on her brow,
Malice in her eyes,
Madness on her lips,
Sweetness in her lies;
And yet he never saw it,
Enraptured in the pleasure of her cries.
Honeyed and silvery,
She sings the siren’s song of silence.
Where her lover dies
To grace her hands with the burgundy of his blood.
What is a moment’s pleasure to eternal sorrow?
Equal in the eyes of a lusting fool.