She dances her bitter dance,
Moving and swaying to a deceptive beat.
Her kiss presses my lips,
Sour under sweet.
She dresses in soft silk,
But silk of bold black.
Her lips draw into a smile,
One worthy of Da Vinci's brush.
But her eyes gaze into my spirit, burning cold,
An Arctic winter in her stare.
She is beauty epitomized, yes,
But hers is a deadly beauty.
For she is the Sirens,
Luring love by her grace
To darkest fate.
And she dances her dizzying dance,
Her chaotic spin,
Her ballet of ecstatic doom.
I cannot escape.
I cannot escape.
I dance her whirling waltz,
And I cannot escape.
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