She seems to be a goddess, You hate her and adore, But if your mind is modest, You’ll be ignored by her. Her hair burns as fire, Her lips are tone of blood. You’ll die then while admire. If you are not a god. She’s neither kind nor easy When needs a sacrifice, Her voice some kind of freezy. Her eyes are made of ice. Her kiss, as cold as bitter, Will only strike a pain; She will be your Lolita, She’ll make you go insane. But when you are a bother, Just nothing after all, She will look for another. She’s never to recall… No senses, no sound, Just smoke in the air, Hell fires all around Reminding her hair… And suffering to praying Without any chance; Your feelings, her betraying – All in the devil’s dance… But when she’s bored of glory, Of the eternal themes, She feels a little sorry, The goddess from your dreams. 2004 | 
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