A morning with an overbearing guilt,
yet my mind cannot be redeemed of its sins.
My frail soul is at last corrupted,
by my very name to your shadows I cling.
My heart bleeds like the Parisian rain,
never cared for the gloom to refrain.
Yet her unholy beauty stirs my thoughts,
of your torture and my unending pain.
I wish to be slay by a seraphic blade,
so that my heart is cleansed of blood.
Who is this stranger with the demonic jade,
erupting from his benevolent mask?
Yet still I pray for tomorrow’s air,
where I shall be under your adoring flair.
Our souls are bound by heaven’s will,
thus I shall wait till my mortal lair.
