I sing a music never heard,
By Hearts too cynical to hear,
My song swell, with decibels,
Yet does not bring them near,
Insatiate of lust am I,
The debauchery of you,
Tempts a curious pilgrim near,
Until her Heart, scared, flew,
When stoic turns the drunken babe,
In to cruelly rendered thing,
She waits to see, in misery,
What her redemption brings.