Lorelei

Lorelei - Theatre of Tragedy
Ferie dearest, was it loe soothfast or a façade;
A serenade sirend to lure - Zounds! not to court me?
A menad, yet the sweetest colleen -
Certes didst thou me unveil meekly life pristine.
Lorelei,
A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death,
Yet who the hell was I to dare?
Lorelei,
Canst thou not see thou to me needful art?
Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is?
Dedally didst thou perform the tragic pasquinade,
For all years a damndest and drieghd accolade -
Causd for all eyes mazed to behold a mêlee;
In the midst did I swainly cast thee my bouquet:
The one and sole faggot that feedeth the fire,
Bellowd bidingly by my hearts quailing quire.
Lorelei,
A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death,
Yet who the hell was I to dare?
Lorelei,
Canst thou not see thou to me needful art?
Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is?
Perchance author I thee this ikond apologue for aught,
Doth the wecht burthen thee?, then bethink thine afterthought:
Tween Aether and Nether art thou the peerless phoenix -
Prithee, darlingmost! - court me rather than the peevish prolix.