the ones who fell from olympus but still act like gods

C Y B E L E

my darling

she was sculpted from gold by the gods/ made to torture mortal men/ standing under the 4 am yellow streetlights/ fresh blood on her hands/ from her last lover/ don't mistake her for someone to love/ she'll set fire to your skies/ boil your oceans/ make your atoms shake/ but oh/ her love was not made for mortal men/ for her mother was Aphrodite herself/ but she is no goddess/ because she sinned too much/ and she lacks their divinity/ their empty marble hearts/ when her knife goes through your chest/ her star glazed eyes reflected silver under the moonlight/locked on your dying ones/ and you'll say/ your pale lips inches from her ear/ oh/ dear cybele/ was the world too cruel to you?/