I walk along the way of death and tire
The cold and hardened marble is a tease
For which I cannot hope is hidden mire
Pleasant is the fire of winter breeze
Hurt and limp I keep a broken stride
With cloak and sword I cut while blind and mute
As if I have a meager luck of pride
She nods to fall and drain my withered root
Lack of love will lean to whet my pen
The light and empty cartridge is a coin
Her tongue is fierce and cuts the minds of men
A meager price to bind her wanting groin

So certain is my lust for harsh abyss
Sweet chirp and song betray my wanting bliss