No angel cast me out of Eden fair
Or pushed me toward the rising sun with glee
The harsh new day that broke th’ idyllic air
Was of my own design, as now I see.
Beliefs of love decayed within my core
Their products stable as a block of lead
To heights divine no longer will I soar
Confined instead to earth by fate’s tough thread.
The ancient sisters mock me as I smile
And give my hand to a triumphant boy
Napoleonic in his strength and style
He makes of me time’s plaything, instinct’s toy.
For him, for me I smooth my forehead creased
The dead are dead no longer, but deceased.