Come, calm the strings and poison their noises,
The white-robed choirs with their golden voices,
They hang their heads and burn the hymnals,
Humming the dirge of exhaled smoke signals.
The weeping women wear scarlet ribbons,
so the men know that harlotry beckons
They wet their lips with dew from the lilac,
Shade their eyes violet, avoiding contact.
A kiss on the mouth from His blushing rose,
Her lips to his ear to find what she knows;
She blows a whisper and pulls the curtain,
'Save yourself, I'm dying from this burden'
He hushes her voice, with gentle repose,
'Take my hand and I'll walk you to Heaven.'