She stands upon the barricade,
Looking on the mess that was made,
Burning corpse-filled fields,
Broken, destroyed useless shields,
She wears a gown that shows no trace,
Of the death she loves to embrace,
She flirts with the reaper with her eyes,
Singing whilst the angel cries,
Dances below the stars, so brave,
And watches as the skies concave,
It's all so calm and beautiful to her,
The wind and the gasps a stunning purr,
And to hold the ace of spades so well,
All she's seen she'll never tell,
Beauty comes in several forms,
It's found in the darkest of storms,
There her plum eyes finds peace,
And her heart hangs from it's cage on release,
The beating rhythm plays her a tune,
Making her conscience completely immune,
It's time to find her Gladius sword,
And create a body to be adored,
Stitch up the wounds that left her paralysed,
Make sure her skin is sterilized,
Perfect the cyanide, silk gown once more,
As it's hem bathes in the blood-flooded floor,
Preparing herself for the camisade,
She stands upon the barricade.
