That crystal orb,
Of such delicate craft,
Sheened by grandeur--
Aura of Purity.
Those thorns so dark,
So craftily adorned
With enchantments to entrance:
Nefarious Beauty.
That Darkness, the shroud,
To the evil of the Night;
Those spells enounced,
Servitude to Falsehood.
Then he came around,
And kindled in man,
His demon, his doom,
And bred the Dark.
So the cleaver crashed
On her crystal glass,
And lacerated
His heart.
Morality, destroyed,
Where'll they go?
Modesty desicrated;
The heartless hearts?
And most men ran
To run the wheels,
Knowing or not,
Mortifying Modesty.
And what'll this cease to,
But the Fire of Hell?
Now, ignorance is bliss?
Or in denial, forever, still?
