When the bright glowing sun sets into the sky,
i stir callously and crack open an eye.
I can see the dried crimson blood on my arm,
and the gorgeous purple fingerprint of harm.
I dress myself with the airs and graces,
of a melancholy whore- one with many faces.
I walk barefoot to my place of pilgrimage,
with the blood on my souls, i pay homage.
In the day, the harlot in me holds her head high,
yet, by night, beneath you i kneel, not meeting you eye.
The mew of the cat distracts me from my bondage,
you bring me back with you steel like rage.
Your eagle like talons tear my flesh like a knife,
every pore on my body, dances with dark life.
Once you’r done, hunting your prey,
You turn and say, i needn’t stay.
And i go back to bed, as i was told to do,
the blood still fresh and the bruise still blue.
The Music Of The Night
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