In the evening I carry her voice with me The siren of my teenage years Her face Hair, my god her hair The scent of a thousand paradise islands Waves that caressed and framed a face Of satin, ivory and the most delicate of freckles Her body, her soul They sing to me in the twilight hours Alone I weep for her In crowds I am lonelier still I dream For to find her herself with me again Would allow me to be free Of this existence Torture, demonic and inhumane. There she is again She sings yet still at dawn Now in the day, before afternoon tea And at night as the lights go out No moments of silence now Even in slumber I see her beauty, her perfectly peaceful And hear her message “Why” She once murmured, now screams “WHY!” And I cannot answer To her Myself The lord Or the judges I suppose some people are just born that way But I’ve found I will see her again Sooner than I could have ever dreamed I will see and feel her body Headless and fair She continues screaming “WHY, Damien?” As I’m led toward The chair