Like a moth to flame
Burning, yet braving his way
To her, he wanders
His sanity, his solace.

Guised vanity, clad in tulle
A vice, with a wicked heart
She is all that is wreckage
Satan’s favorite child.

Besotted, he pays no heed
Desires paving his way to disasters
Ready to sin, ready to sink
His salvation, a taste of her ruby lips.

She lets him get his fill, and much more
Another mortal, she used and thrown
Sans merci, she lets you sin
And finds solace in your strike.