A cold siren's song, The lullaby I listen to every night, Whispered softly through the mire. From the bog of shattered dreams and broken promises, Across the endless fog that clouds the mind.
I have come to love the cold chill, Passing amidst the rift of the emerald mountains. The ardent heat grazing my face, That peculiar shade of fire preceding the dawn.
A glorious miracle that can only rise to greet her with a new day, Allowing her another chance to show her smile. For my Danaë has the power to control the tides, And the authority to command the above skies.
The moon shines bright for her convenience, As well as hide her face at her displeasure. For she holds the remnants of paradise, She bathes in the holy blood of Eden.
She is the siren of myth, The muse behind man's talent. The promise of redemption hides within her affection, And the antidote to the world rests upon her lips.
My salvation and my sweetest condemnation, She is the color that paints the roses vivid. She is a simple woman, She is the greatest gift bestowed on undeserving man.