Rose of  the Devil

Sweet and beautiful your shadow seems to be,
that deadly odour of fake tears you pour so innocently,
wider than darkest emptiness, deeper than sacred fantasy,
you put them in my hands, those that fooled so many,
but their scent, powerful and violent,
as i open my veins in rain,
to purge my blood from your flames,
i want, but, i know, to touch that beauty, to eat that mystery,
there was more to life, not only falling into ecstasy,
but the time is so ugly, my prayer is dry,
and every night as you come, raving those blooms over the tongue of mine,
i am falling...

Cherries in wine, but then, i close my eyes,
and you are still here, silent so frosty, beautiful so hauntingly,
i want to suffocate in oceans of melting tastes and burning symphonies,
i detest light as your God loves his sheep,
violins, crying violins, over the darkness of luring melodies,
i fail to resist...

The coldest flower, raised in night,
no human eye shall ever touch,
run across the fields of heaven,
search the end of time and dreams,
but there is not a single flower blooming,
not a single child making you FEEL,
more than your seven sins,
more than untamed fantasy,
no bedroom can hide your mind,
no sheet can cover your eye,
no god can dwell by,
there is not a greater flower real,
than the Rose of the Devil.