A blonde gipsy with watery eyes
That could melt fire, sprouting lies;
Sitting in a garden of sin and passion;
A magical utopia of evil creation.

He's crawled up inside his bottle,
Tears trailing down his face ripple;
Burning his skin and scarring his lips,
Red blood flowing from his fingertips.

A tattoo on his arm, spelling Jade,
But slowly memories of her fade,
The cotton lips and piercing stare,
Are no longer in his soul's care.

Her devil's eyes drove him mad,
And one night, in blackness clad,
The Green Fairy drove his hand
So he shattered what he couldn't stand.

A black crow circles in the fire,
Screeching that the absinthe desire
Will kill him as it made him kill,
Will torture him and bring him ill.

There was no love in him for her;
He loved the feeling she would spur
But only mistress Absinthe Green Fairy
Could keep his esprit faithfully.

And mistress Absinthe of the Fairy
Killed all pretty rivals mercilessly,
Bringing despair to the fair gipsy
Murdering him softly with her beauty.

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AN: Absinthe is an illegal alcohol that would cause hallucinations and was
very popular in the XIX century, most great poets drank it (Oscar Wilde and
many French poets); it's green and addictive, you'd lose your mind while
drinking it. It seems I have an obsession with gypsies, I don't really, I
just find them to be very.poetic. Now that you've read this it couldn't
hurt to leave a little review :-). Oh ya and 'esprit' was my little French-
izing, it means spirit.