Cythère

Seven choices but nowhere to hide
The red light flickers
So does the dress
The hands have nothing to grasp
And the head and the hat
Never stopped lingering
Just like the thoughts the secrets
The people passing by

It started somewhere in a room, perhaps a museum
on what you might call a canevas
In the heart of a broken woman holding on to human
Things such as moments or dreams
Nothing came true.

He had been murdered in a cave for his beliefs
Those that got so many other killed but
Love has no excuse
It hurts all the same and leaves you with nothing
but the strength to hold a brush against the world
to draw dresses, murder weapons and universes with
No walls nor floors