Caressed by a thistle concealed in a velvet glove
As thy fronds of Egyptian grass stroke the dove
Shattered, I rest upon a thorny bed of roses
Battered, ensnared in your jaws as the door closes
Hypnotised by the deadly lure of your serpent's glare
Moments away from an encaged eternity before I go up in a flare
Laid to burn in your torture chamber wherein hatred blossoms
My soul dwindling down the dark void that is your bosom
And at last it's in your iron maiden I must lie
Your eyes full of malice and hatred the last as I die.
