The Lady In Red

Over the years, I take no aliment than dear hate; for those years I serve no break than art affright, affright by a lost whose angel name's killing in men. Thrilled by death; whose killed yclept killer in menace– pondering from yonder whose reddish name tattoo my name. Her name who's lady in red. The name I don't remember. Because she was nothing more; nothing less.

I remember that day; those I was a delinquent; who's reckless by name of Antony; by nothing but diligent– by thy words, by those time I the Dali's Clock have–e'er weakening n' sickening my villainess, hadn't I deed something? Something that I never sap to zap my finger for me? O'er by the Torture of Prometheus, as the eagles feast my soul! Yonder by me; hereupon she comes. As the lady in red comes the way!

The girl in red whose magnificent skin (whom to be differ by blood); the skin! shalt hath beauty as Cleopatra! Indeed, as life was indeed hers. And those eye that gently rolling, rolling that trolls to my roar! Eyes that was Confucius, as were like the tides that arise a country! O, harmony of Antony; a love once inked by ruth! once unite. Now been ignite by the flames of the Plutonium shore, a love by star fated not to be, ah for nevermore!

Now I know, now I do. For that love that I do care. For whose love like the grandeur of Rome, to the glory that Greece had, never to be bad. I, thy honor to be thy Romeo off the perfumed sea! Whose beauty blooms the moon of the bosom. Nevertheless I say– the classic face whose hair as the hyacinth waving the clouds. Hair that prevails to be as curl as the loud and fearless thunder!

I quoth, "To whom shall bloom in the moon, you're the scenic star differ from the thousand stars. You shall be my bride for the rest of my life, my dear love." But the girl say nothing than bare silences; Over from my quaint, appetency of my heart– resilience! I don't quite understand what the girl's sullen at me; for me that who I Philip of Castile to be oblivious was!

For I assay again for a ditty to a pity, ah so I said: for a simple missive for a girl who's angel's name– 'Miss Red' of the Blue, for whose blood differ by blood; I asked nothing in contrast of a lame aim, to love you back."

But then shall 'till, the girl once said, "I am an invincible maiden; looking for love and contrast beyond the limits of my dear sorrow. Whose name will shalt art remarkable as the red of the sea, row upon!"

"Aught you ought, my dear. Within, thrill me with real love!" I said. I was bane, for what I tame for that love I claim– what for true love does. "Whatever you wish for, whenever you like my dear Pallas."

Quoth the girl, "Avaunt within my sight, peasant!" What a word, that goes beyond my significant world.

I took this bare quote and I said, "Amn't just peasant for ye– for I will be your leman for a thousand land n' years."

"You loathly being, how ye dare make me an appetency! For someone cain't understand what love is? For I, the love apple."

I quoth, "Now I do understand for does love is for a man itself, love nor happiness isn't about standards and prosperity. It doesn't either be calculated or by luck nor any charm. It's rather what you give up and let go for the sake of others." Nonetheless, she's still comprehend me as an absurd being.

"Give it up, daren't to love me back, or I made an act. For someone whose persistent as a man who seems like a tack! Leave! For once a heart that once loved never to love again! Leave!"

O, from my dearest heart that once love now never to be love again. For who am I to art a sentiment for sacred isolation of sins! O who am I to be a love and be love by a swain who sways me back. For a broken, hinder me from this 'misplace love'! Thwart me!

So, I ran– running beyond my great misery. For I compel myself– from the vastness itself, O asked then I shalt task as I commend! For what I from, what I am for how I was throw-me-down! To whom I perceive the truth, who am I? O God from the above! Who I am to be love and be love by a snooty coot, hear me out! Here me in, commencing in this darkness; drunkenness by that abuse love! O Raven that stood among the skull! Hear me within this perfumed death!

Discard by love, disgrace by those who deed me; for everything I did; for every words that printed by this sedated life, aid me by this meaningless life! To roam unto the dark alley of nothingness, hearken to me as I implore, to this life I wanted to explore beyond the lured lore, paint me that portrait. That image me as I man himself, I– the Armand Roulin; who be I shall sentence to parish unto the world. Who armed by this silver, tangled by this fate, and never shall be love again. As I close my dear eyes, I sealed my fate; and there nothing there than dear hate, hate, HATE!