• My Angel.

    Oh, my weeping Angel,
    Whose soul is free from sin.
    Why does the wicked razor write
    Its scarlet sign upon your skin?

    Oh, my saddened starlight,
    Whose eyes do shine with tears.
    Why does the flood blend with the blood
    And all your liquid fears?

    Oh, my mournful moonshine,
    Whose core is filled with pain.
    Why do you insist upon your wrist
    That you're the one to blame?

    Oh, my sorrowful sunrise,
    Whose heart is made of gold.
    Why does the dark leave its dull mark
    Upon your 'empty' soul?

    Because I am yours, my darling one,
    'Til the stars burn up and die.
    'Til the moon no longer lights the way,
    And the sun has left the sky.

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