What Would You Say to This?

With your eyes, cast in the moonlight,
your hair flowing in the starry night,
and your chestnut lips parting in the sunlight,
why do you think, you should leave me behind?
With all your records, underneath your wing,
aside your soothing skin, wasn't I once your king?
And with your melting cloud face, what didn't you bring,
that wasn't something I thought was worth my time?

Your memories sat in the field,
with your visions of the man with the shield
and your seeings of the ghost's skin peeled
back, what made you wanna let me go?
With your gypsy tales of the old and insane,
and your treasures of things with no wealth to aim,
and your simple poetry that rang through our brains,
do you believe in your ancient myths from ages ago?

Oh, oh, beautiful lady, you once were so calm,
before, before your sister took a knife from your palm.
You, you said that things would remain the same,
but, but before I replied, I became useless and lame.

Dear lady, do you recall your visions from that night?
The ones when you tried to decide if the taxi was right?
I don't understand your philosophically religious beliefs,
maybe you can enlighten me, give me some relief;
but please make it brief, I must be gone before day's first light.

With your empty eyes, and your mailbox dreams,
and your maidens clothes, that don't got any seams,
what makes you think, that all I do is just some evil scheme?
Maybe we got off on the wrong foot, but I meant no harm.
With your harmless games of blind man's bluff,
and your deck of cards, that came with empty handcuffs,
do you think your eternal plays of angels is ever enough?
Don't be shocked by the energy of your fire alarm.

Save yourself pretty lady, from the sights of your sign,
because it takes little to make you descend to the bottom of time.
How many times will it take, till you know the damage you've done?
If you ever hurt me again in my heart, you best turn and run.

My love, with your flesh softer than Venus,
and your eyes, deeper than the nightingale.
With your hands so warm and if you and me were us,
I'd be free, with your lips so red, and your face so pale.

With your anxious eyelashes, that stretch to the moon,
and your mindful escapades with Shakespeare in Cameroon,
Achilles would never touch Prisaeas with your eyes like a spoon,
don't you see that you are not just a human beauty my love?
With your knowledge, wise beyond your years, being so young,
and with your empty face, your flawless ladder rungs
and your hollow nose, and your softly grazing tongue,
how many times, must I ask: would you know my love?