The Whore's Trophy I by Sympathy
You try to allure us in scarlet.
A killing time for the disposable and deceived.
From this cup is the blood tainted by the formation of depravity.
Dieting on our new wine.
What a mystery you have become.
Captivating us by the savor from the golden cup.
We are left drunk with a new doctrine.
Your prostitution will collapse that which makes us your harlot's embrace.
I decline this bitter taste.
Our lamps lie half empty, yet we will refuse and watch you burn.