Ivory as the silk beneath you,
Do your eyes deceive the life,
Passed down by those before you,
And do you live nothing but an utter lie.
There's no pity for your kind,
Or pity for a being such as I,
For we are the same,
Nothing but the same,
And I regret nothing, for we speak nothing.
Your hands shake in velvet dressing,
Caste within your scripted lines,
Written on your skin,
For wherever you need forgetting,
You let it pull you in.
There's no saving someone who lives to die,
But for you is there one request,
I crack a smile, for the act,
And draw the curtains to pursue your fall.
Perfect in ivory was your night, turned into ebony,
When crimson had went into style,
As the shadow of martyrdom before you,
And you take away all that was precious.
You cease to live here any more.