Her high--she whispers in my ear--I'll die
If I don't cede--my winged soul must shift
To take her sirens' song I can't deny.
She is a burden I must love--her beauty
Breeding more beauty through my fog-filled voice--
I love, I hate to feel her song--my duty
Is always to obey--I love my choice.
Beloved, there's no burden that can raise
The soul to realms of child-play--she'll prey
Upon your feathered mind--yes, she will raze
It to rebuild, and to her you will pray.
The sirens are the sisters to the Muses--
Creation or destruction--each one chooses.
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