The first demand she made of me
was to be awakened by fire and pain;
Speaking only in her whispered tones,
Fate seduced me.
She spoke to me of honor then,
and of finding my own way;
Of all the paths less traveled by
which lead into the fray.
Her eyes were fired by my own passions –
my own thoughts fell from her tongue;
On her pale skin I tasted then
the man I had become.
She spoke to me of redemption then,
and finally, of regret…
And with her kiss a brokenness
fell like hair upon my chest.
In a dark room lit by candle light
her silken dress fell to the floor;
Her veil of lies no more disguised
that Fate wanted more.
The last demand she made of me
was my death by my own hand;
Still in that room, her sweet perfume
is almost more than I can stand.
And so, we dance the Tarantella
She beckons, and I refrain…
Only able to deny her charms
because she taught me first to love the pain.
