Evoke the reflection, see only candor, you seldom cry- have you no shame?
I cannot console you as you engage in this feud- the mirth of your eyes clouded with smoke, can you see? But of course not!
You move, languid, with the wine in your skull- where is your chariot, maiden? Where is your shame?
Have you none? But of course not!
You shan't walk free, for you have succumbed so easily- and with what risk? Was it worth it? But of course not!
Gold embroidered in the finest silk caresses your *****, a veil hides your tears- but alas, your soul is raw and ragged- why has thee left it loft in the sea?
The vernal land smells of petrichor- the stream runs eager! Where have you gone, what have you done? Have you run, one of seven brides to be wed? Have you no shame? But of course not!
Shall we await your return? But of course not!