Harlot

Drenched in fashions of solace
O'er oceans of such pale passion burn
What motives lay in her decisions?
Open eyes are clouds greyeth as skies turn

With mine own weakness... Being best acquainted
How sweet thou shalt maketh my shame

Fairest of angels, how drift I too thee
Heaven hath played with mine heart
His face such sweet survey of passion and grace
Hallowed be his name I hark

And shall I cast towards his better judgement?
A smile which shall render him weak and here

Seeping in from the ether, for her skin is thusly stained
E'er drowning eyes from whence sorrow was shed
Shall I with natural inadequacy, healeth her aching heart
For when I to her proffered, she shall draw hence blithering words

Behind her locks of har, and locks upon her doors
Chasms and gaping wounds, yet blessed by her consequence

If once there shall be such design in these shadows
Whilst they doth fall over me?
A pattern of child like drama and purity, charming in spite
Oh here I protective shall be

But I, I'm not you conscience and you're not my faith
Yet why must you then hold thine heart in wait?