Monsieur, Madame, buy a memory?
Of someone blue and cold,
whose heart beats on flame,
and dances on papers old?

Or someone who once smiled,
as they danced on golden leaf,
covered in silver linings,
not knowing it will be brief?

Or you'd want something worthwhile?
A silver pendant or a silver blade,
both too beautiful -
enough not to behave?

See here, if none suits,
maybe you'd want the one with a somber black suit?
Standing near a slab of stone,
as he bit into the unholy truth?

Or a dance, one summer's eve,
Yellow lace, blue lace, green and red,
Chatter and sweet nothings said, or
Satins soft enough for your bed?

Pure, ****** white,
or glass slippers and ballgowns,
galas and masquerades,
entranced by your delight?

Or so I've learned what you'd all like,
easy, soft, vulnerable,
one with the sweetest core,
One that never asked for more?

How about this other one,
so full of tempests, untamed and wild,
bred in the worst of nightmares
and broken dreams of a child?

Lovely Madame, gallant Monsieur,
oh, but let me remind you this,
all is not blissful and happy,
or innocent and sweet.

I've had the memories who swam in too deep,
who drowned in their sleep,
who slipped on the ***** too steep -
and all they ever done was weep.

I've got the memories who were shattered like glass,
bright beating hearts who were never meant to last,
residing in Chaos for the pain to pass,
un-mendable, no matter how many spells were cast.

I've acquired
memories too roughly hewn,
too badly bent,
too badly burnt.

I've picked up memories long lost and forgotten,
thrown out and fallen,
put aside as soon as begotten,
cast down and trodden.

But there are... I think,
though I hope not all are taken,
the ones treasured and loved,
the ones held gently like a dove.

A smile of loyalty,
a breath as soft as a feather,
a sigh to signify they've gone so far,
but with much more good moments and a lot of blunder.

A memory of a light,
bright in the darkness, pure and clean;
a helping hand,
who proved not all was Sin.

Mine? Oh, no, dear madame, good monsieur,
I have neither owned a memory in my life,
nor held one so dear
as I said: they are bought;

By good deeds,
shared with neither malice nor greed nor wrath nor fury,
although we all have had to bleed,
just for equality and love; hand-in-hand, freed.

You'll see, you'll see!
It's not really bad or will be,
if you bought a memory from me,
the girl who sold Memories.