Contrive a little chalk line in the sand.
Swing your hips, dance idly to Satan's tune.
Let the amethyst drip through cloudy shores.
Strike iron, strike gold, and find a new land.
Let the child rest on warm days in June.
And your lover's arrow shall quiver soon.
Or perhaps get even, and nothing more.
The sun may show her your deepest secrets,
but the moon draws out the warmth from within.