The w i l d one left the Eden of lies
For she was the painted women
The unapologetic creature of the night
She shackled the spirit
And tore it apart
No trips planned ahead
Nor any reason to return'

So the seed must grow
Regardless the fact that it was planted in stone'
She can hear it's melancholy - l o n g - withdrawing crack

Retreating,
to the breath'

Her first footstep touched a verdant hill
Outvieing all the buds in Flora's diadem
Above the ingrate world and human fears

She nests her abode with the ravens'
Dangling from the edge of skyscrapers
Responsive to sylphs, in the moon beamy air
Past each horizon of fine poesy;

And there; the willing slaves are milling
to and fro
In search of treasure' and gold

And the creation mythmakers float in fabled vessels
laughing and drinking
They seize, and cease and begins' again

And when they were all together
They almost killed each other
Fighting over rights and prides and control'

In the dwellings of this war-surrounded isle;
It's easy to be lethal
But not resting along abandoned at the shorelines
But she did-
She sighed out songs that filled the air'
Past each horizon of fine poesy;