I was lured to the garden by the scent of fresh berries

With fruit so fresh as if it tended by faeries

I plucked a morsel from an extending branch

And without hesitation, put the pome to my lips

Savoring it for a sweet moment before devouring it whole

Eagerly lapping at my stained finger tips

So enamored I was by each bright sensation

I was unaware of the nettles, whose spines creeped and settled

Sinking into my flesh, and poisoning the bone

First there was an itch and then a sharp pain

As I was torn away from what I couldn't lay claim

And what at first seemed a garden was but a damp grave

The plant tags were tombstones

Of others who’d strayed

And as I fell prone from my festering abrasions

My eyes becoming dark and my senses dulled

I realized I was but a number in the faeries' death toll

No god above could ever inspire
my love like She whom I admire.
The temple where each night I pray,
is the holy bed where nights She lay.

A cup of wine.
A bed divine.
No world outside,
nor thoughts of time.

Our bodies meet,
our arms enlace;
our limbs entwine,
our lips embrace.

When lips first taste of passion's bliss,
in this holy kiss that we rehearse;
our bodies' grace is our godliness,
our bed divine is our universe.

Shrine of our idolatry,
bind our flesh eternally;
sear our chests with passion's fire,
adhere our groins of mad desire.

Forever our spirits in the Heavens soar,
however, we plummet - to the floor.
Fingertips chase over slips of lace.
Teeth they find all things that bind...

How savagely our clothes unwind
as we prepare on bed divine
to make the sacrifice sublime!

And all Creation comes from this
Breath we form in holy kiss.
When lips combine
Your breath in mine,
two breaths they form
one breath divine.

Déesse, mon âme,
by Your body,
All that's godly, I define.
For what could be in the skies above,
that I can't find within Your love?

Our love, it makes the stars align,
the moon eclipse,
and the solar shine.

And all Creation comes from this
Union of our holy kiss.


[End of Act I]

I kant here my quay
bored write now bee
koz ov de eer fones
+ it iz darc and dare
iz no lite in de rhume
so dis haz too bee a
fonethic pome dat eye
ex specked u kan sea
whi I am dis leck sick.