So the story teller sat and say,
"Spare me a moment to share this tale...
Of the lack of shame and the Devil's play
Strength is a myth, for he has yet to fail..."
The female demon hasn't been entering dreams and with each passing night, she grows weaker
But feeding on nocturnal fantasies of mere mortal men can satiate her no longer
She needs to devour a tortured soul, a fellow sinner
And in an exiled angel lay her desire
His lust full of anger, of a distant past only known to him
Hers was a vengeance for broken promises and shattered dreams
They both know what it's like to be hurt; Pain is their sole companion
And what couldn't break them is now a form of gratification
He abuses, she receives
He demands, she submits
She taunts, he's excited
She mocks, he's tempted
For the lesser being, it'd be easy to miss
The tenderness shared in their violent bliss
Only a condemned can see the picture
Sometimes the sweet is in the bitter
The angel is of fleeting nature
But he always felt drawn to her
And the demon's afraid he might one day figure
The gentle side she hides underneath her hardened exterior
So it comes to the end of the story
Is this just a plain fable of a story teller?
Who's obsessed with evil and its mystery?
Perhaps, but this tale was spun from the hands of a lover
She just doesn't believe in fairy tales.
*I'll clip your fucking wings so you can no longer fly
*for Indra, wherever he might be
=The Unintended=
17 April 2011
