Call me a vixen,
When I am a swan,
Selling my feathers,
Soon to be gone.
My feathers are red,
Like no other's,
Trapped in my head,
Two-faced lovers.
My feathers are sold,
Only skin is shown,
Grey like it's old,
My feathers, I mourn.
They point and they jeer,
"Fox", they spit,
The words I hear,
Words never miss.
I sew a fleece,
With patches of soul,
To keep my sick beast,
Safe and warm.
The sickness,
Takes over,
True dictator,
Death of a lover.
Feathers on the ground,
Tears down my face,
Soft sound,
Nothing but grey.
