As | stand in your front, listening to your eloquent thoughts, piercing your soul with my sight, And wailing taciturnity to the angels, | frivolously define your intentions. Yet, your mind is deft with emotions. With a riotous glance, you mandate | cease my audacious anxiety, But | am left helpless in your presence. I'm only awaiting a mendacious sentence. An austere sword is held high, one that | swore once to be my nemesis. Oh, the sword of my ablaze love... The one with whom | sacrificed my seconds, my coveted feelings and their pulchritude... An indolent thought diffuses as soon as your eyes meet mine. And | must, oh,| must vindicate my pretenses, the ones that foraged for the truth in our love. The ones that forgot what hope has ever been. A strident cry for help leaves my heart when you noxiously stab my mind with the sword of our despondent love and you glance as | fall curtly as | stand in your front.