I sing of tales of timeless love
And stories of old;
Of icy maidens, broken roses,
And other things of this nature told.
Of the cons of man so easily
Governed by a beautiful face
That caused screaming tongues and
Petty warplay between different race;
How is it that bloodlust can be heated by the blush of a brow,
The façaded modesty, and the occasional stolen kiss?
How a single idea that changed histories came from
Seemingly mellifluous nothings; never amiss
In the ear of a powerful man
Simply given in the warmth of his bed.
Those faces who burnt cities, spilled blood,
And revolutionized religions instead:
In mythical Rome, in all of Europe overthrown,
In the stems of roses without thorns.
These ideas that come from the tongue of a woman,
Thence through the mouth of a man are born.
The young, wailing words turn into deeds
And change the world as it was known to be.
Though the players differ in being,
The overall game continues to remain the same;
The faces of the skillfully seductive are ever forgotten,
Replaced with potent names.
The names of man cover our dusty papers and books
While the lips of our kind simply give men the sin that they have took.