The violins struck a higher note,
My corpse flows down in wooden boat.
The dead man’s curse will always float,
And seep inside his lover’s throat.
.
His lover’s throat has faded white,
She’ll ensnare you and take your sight.
You’ll long the touch of fresh sunlight,
She’ll buy your soul but you won’t fight.
.
She’ll whisper soft, alter your hue,
Will make you limitlessly blue.
Endless skies, no sunset to gaze,
Another dead man’s grave she’ll raze.
.
She’ll raze the romance of the words,
Slaughter the letter-carrying birds,
And lust after the sinful breed,
Of murderers and players of Greed.
.
The violins end a love story,
Which was no love only gory,
But tell that to Poetry’s heart,
Who ends the tales that never start.