You taught me the absolution,
You, woman of exquisite dreams!
Oh, daughter of Apollo, you,
who sings, kicks and screams.

The noises you create
Will be of utmost importance
While you rattle and shake
and tear off your wings.

Salvation! Flows, oh, within
the lake of rich blood,
the wine of gorgeous Bacchus,
stronger than the womb.

You swim, as though it is sport,
creating shores of ****** concrete.
You will never get out and dry...
you might then stop drowning.

Your lyre will be unique,
for it will always wear red.
The color of blood: not enemies'
but of your own flesh.

You brought me my wings,
You, woman of accomplished dreams!
I tore them off time and time again,
but you just made them anew.

The cradle you represent...
That is my resting place,
a face of pure emotion,
of love, obsession, romance.

As though I'm a songbird,
and you're the tiger thrush,
you show power and the truth
with a warm smile.

Carry me and I'll carry you,
With pleasures of the flesh,
Feathers in the way, but no care
And crooked beacons of light.

You made me my lyre,
You, woman of broken dreams!
You heard me sing in my sleep
while you cried tears of joy.

You taught me about your father,
and your mother, Hera,
and I listened with intent,
knowing I might meet her one day.

You made me want what I
Could never have. I won't
ever forgive you, because
You once made me smile.

You made me a failure,
You, man of broken bottles.
You raged and fumed about
Whatever you cared about, not me.

You taught me shame,
but no ways to ever avoid it.
You taught me how to be pathetic.
You taught me to love the women of the world.