Oh prick me not, you sickly rose, Your charms are all but woes. Festered psyche screams in angst, Dreading recurrence of times past. This blessed tantrum of lusty love, A malediction of Immortals above. And this vast lore of carnal 'dirges', Urges upon the eunuch soul twinges. Juices flow unthreatened, fueling hunger, I would yield had I been younger. Now flesh is all that stands erect, The frail soul does nil but deject. Sweet honey we devour in haste, Is but disguised venom holy in taste.
Who Said Broken Strings Can't Sing...?