He gave to her,
yet tenfold
claim'd in return -
She hath no life
but the one
he for her wrought;
Proffer'd to her
his wauking heart -
she turn'd it down,
Ripostéd
with a tell-tale lore
of lies and scorn.

Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
«I ken tomorrow refell me if ye can!»,
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra.

Still, is she
lief and quaint in his eyne,
a sight divine?
A mistress
fuell´d by
his prest haughtiness
If he did grant,
wherefore then did
he not foresee,
Be like egal
as it to him
might be?!

Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
«I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!»,
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra.

'Or was he an æriéd being,
'Or was he weening - alack nay mo;
Her naysay' raught his heart,
Her daffing was the grave of all hope -
She beliéd her own words,
He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge,
She held him august, yet wee;
He left her ne'er without his heart

See also:
JustSomeLyrics
21
21.59
Social Distortion 99 to Life Lyrics
Cloud Cult Your 8th Birthday Lyrics