The beating started from one to two
once an unending chant for you,
with love and hate and all its colors
speak soft then strong with rings of dolors

the beatings went from three to four
till roses turned to violet skin
she was blindfolded and never keen
till she was left to jump a hill

the beatings went from four to fire,
she knew she loved a liar,
she played her last song of curses
till the beatings stopped
and her strings were veins of blue

The beating was a broken chord
she ended the last note for her pyre
not a tear shed for her cursed lyre