Tinge of tawny and pink of desert sand.
But when they came, it had all mixed up,
They could just see red of blood on my hand.
Bled, salted and be burnt I must;
for they yelled on top of their voices,
I do not remain anymore a creature of trust.
Folly I have committed,
as they put it, by following my desire
Must in public I be loathed
by people, with pure hatred and ire.
Decadence as I looked in those eyes,
to which I do not owe my fealty.
Perish I rather be, so press you charges
and in full consciousness I plead guilty.