A thing of beauty to behold, but a sorrow to possess,
She’ll take all that you offer until there’s nothing left.
Nothing left.
Face hidden in shadow beneath a hood of quills.
The pinions of her raiment conceal all her ills.
Beneath her cloak of feathers lies a body soft and fine,
Eyes of hazel green, flowing hair as dark as wine.
A thing of beauty to remember, but a sorrow to forget,
She took all that I gave her ’til there was nothing left.
Artist: The Sword
Napalm Records
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