Her passions wrote lyrics upon the parchment of her lips,
Under the gaze of the scarlet night.

I could not hold her there and we felt alone; though we were together.
Under the gaze of the scarlet night.

The rose is red and the glaze is soft upon the open eye.
The poet in the attic - surrounded himself with ghosts and dust coated lies-
spins perfumed words in the cold scarlet night. He comes to realise
the mystery of fate in the hour of late advance as he comes to recreate
the masterpiece of failure; oh too late.

A portrait was painted in blood and wine
by the hand of a sullen amateur
Then burnt in the fire of music
In the deep scarlet night.

Her passions wrote her confessions in the ink of truth
Upon the eyelids of beauty, as the cars speed past
to unseen glory, waited upon by cherubs in the
bright sun orange light.

Will you give in to the grazing dawn?
Will you hold me in angel glance at the end of this deep scarlet night?