Post by Ramona on Jan 2, 2006 16:00:00 GMT -8
She’s an assassin who kills her prey softly, with song.
She’s got her fingers tangled in the heartstrings of a thousand men,
Singing them songs of love with gunfire in her words
And leaving poison kisses on their bloodied lips and frozen cheeks.
This assassin, this mercenary of Eros, she recites lines from Shakespeare.
She speaks, weeping crocodile tears, of those shielded by Dian’s stubborn chastity,
Reciting her lines in a dramatized iambic pentameter,
And letting her syllables tremble up and down on the silence that greets her performance.
He’s an assassin who kills his prey quickly, with lack of love.
He’s always wrenching his fingers from the heartstrings of women,
Silencing their sad songs of love with a gun in his hands
And leaving nothing but bullet-holes on their ivory brows and blooming breasts.
This assassin, this mercenary of Juno, he recites lines from Shakespeare.
He speaks, shedding leaden tears, of those enamored in Venus' faulty girdle,
Reciting his lines in ignorance of the rhythm,
And letting his bland syllables fall flatly on the ears of the women that he’s killed.
They’re mercenaries of a different goal, each begrudging the other his pay.
Contempt breeds familiarity, and so they bury their fingers into the other’s heartstrings,
Singing and silencing sad songs of love with gunfire voices and hands
And leaving burning, acid kisses on the other’s face and brow.
These assassins, they recite lines from Shakespeare.
They sing and speak quite earnestly of poison that begins and ends young love,
Swallowing and choking on harsh words from gunfire voices,
Leaving nearly nothing left save for Shakespeare’s ultimate love-bite, two corpses.
by Robin
She’s got her fingers tangled in the heartstrings of a thousand men,
Singing them songs of love with gunfire in her words
And leaving poison kisses on their bloodied lips and frozen cheeks.
This assassin, this mercenary of Eros, she recites lines from Shakespeare.
She speaks, weeping crocodile tears, of those shielded by Dian’s stubborn chastity,
Reciting her lines in a dramatized iambic pentameter,
And letting her syllables tremble up and down on the silence that greets her performance.
He’s an assassin who kills his prey quickly, with lack of love.
He’s always wrenching his fingers from the heartstrings of women,
Silencing their sad songs of love with a gun in his hands
And leaving nothing but bullet-holes on their ivory brows and blooming breasts.
This assassin, this mercenary of Juno, he recites lines from Shakespeare.
He speaks, shedding leaden tears, of those enamored in Venus' faulty girdle,
Reciting his lines in ignorance of the rhythm,
And letting his bland syllables fall flatly on the ears of the women that he’s killed.
They’re mercenaries of a different goal, each begrudging the other his pay.
Contempt breeds familiarity, and so they bury their fingers into the other’s heartstrings,
Singing and silencing sad songs of love with gunfire voices and hands
And leaving burning, acid kisses on the other’s face and brow.
These assassins, they recite lines from Shakespeare.
They sing and speak quite earnestly of poison that begins and ends young love,
Swallowing and choking on harsh words from gunfire voices,
Leaving nearly nothing left save for Shakespeare’s ultimate love-bite, two corpses.
by Robin
