The Meadow of Sins

The grip of dementia that smiles from a veil
 Distorts all my visions, my passions of clay
 She gathers the nymphos, the child and the rain
 The ballet of death is our own masquerade
 The lanterns are shining from my stoned demise
 That sparkles like stars while I'm dying inside
 The ghost of my sorrow you just cannot bear
 For nothing is worth of my needless despair
 The ballet won't stop
 Till our voices are whispers
 Like frozen drops at the hands of our trickster
 You walk on the scaffold you try not to see
 You blame me for something you seem to esteem
 In who is delighted to laugh at your sorrow
 In name of your love she will kill you tomorrow
 Silent is howling your death dressed in white
 You don't want to see that your time now is nigh
 I may be deceived by my silent devotion
 But all that I'll be is confetti in motion
 The ballet won't stop
 Till our voices are whispers
 Like frozen drops at the hands of our trickster