Reclining, covered in silver

The cursed diamonds glitter

Over that cruel-gorgeous countenance

The lady waits

She would ask for the hands of the artist

That he would not paint better than her likeness

And she would ask for the faces of the beautiful

Cut into ribbons and fed to their possessors

And she would ask for the hearts of men

Ripped out and laid before her

And she would ask the skies burnt down

And human eyes to adorn her crown

The lady waits

Go then, my friend, fawn at her feet

Go, obsequies and grovel

Play sycophant and pray she is amused

Her mouth blood-red and glistening

Her eyes dark, a staring abyss

Her skin is cold, her breath is sweet

Besotted with her, can you not see

The extent to which you are consumed?

The lady waits

Reclining, covered in silver

The cursed diamonds glitter

Over that cruel-gorgeous countenance

The lady waits