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Now, I despise what I once Yearned for, sunlight On the back of my neck— A kiss from an angel Cloaked in white; Trembling like marble Perched on a precipice— Now, Satisfaction is superbly Demonic, a twisted ritual, Sinful, perfect— The golden tick of time it tastes like blood… In the wings, bats Worry into walls, Only their blindness Sees the truth— And, When your throat opens Up inside my mouth, Ah— Until The clarinet of regret Plays its sultry tune A minor key— A beam of silver light begins to flood… This honeyed moon Feels a lot like sun; I stand in its mercurial gaze Haloed by Satan himself— The crowd leers on Eyes whiten as shimmering Welts bubble on my skin Like rain on glass— When the curtain falls You must remember, All passion is born from A violent ember— And immortality ends in the mud. Inspired by Dracula the ballet.
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