Beauty is forever parallel to power in this life:
The hungry souls, crying out;
Unfufilled, empty dreams turned sour: I sharpen my knife.

Divide and conquer the spirits the spirits; no given peace in the afterlife.
Give power to the beaten! but mask the drought.
Beauty is forever parallel to power in this life.

Take shame for husband, vanity for wife.
Empty yourselves of such a notion as doubt;
Unfufilled, empty dreams turned sour: I sharpen my knife.


It birthed destruction of a white rose, resentment the midwife.
You and I lost, no surviving the mirrored bout.
Beauty is forever parallel to power in this life.

I try to adhere to your eye with it rife
As ego's pressure on a soul's sacred route;
Unfufilled, empty dreams turned sour: I sharpen my knife.

Under ice and snow my own soul cries, and in strife
It marches against my beauty, of which I am devout.
Beauty is forever parallel to power in this life.
Unfufilled, empty dreams turned sour: I sharpen my knife.