Heels striking the cold stone In the open arms of day Slip into visions of Crackling glass that Explodes into sparks in The depth of night, One figure intertwined in The closed embrace of darkness With only an occasional silhouette Illuminated by the coy glare of streetlamps - Tears of joy streaming down A faceless head.
Grind my feeble bones to dust! My lover’s quarrel must be brought to heel, Love need not be born of lust. My affections are oft met with sneers of disgust, My clueless love I seek to steal. Grind my feeble bones to dust. Appearances are lauded, a handsome face a must, To receive good grace I pray and kneel, Love need not be born of lust. They ought to close their eyes and trust A personality is a far heartier meal, Grind my feeble bones to dust. My fiery passion and intent robust, I prepare myself and harden heart to steel. Love need not be born of lust. My blood boils and I am content with its ringing peal, But I cry out and long for my lover’s sweet, delighted squeal. Grind my feeble bones to dust. Love need not be born of lust.