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.