The Crypt at Via Flaminia

The final resting place of those who were St. Valentine

Oh how I try to run
When you draw out your bow.
Arrows from the quiver.
But my feet move to slow.
Target,
Black Dot
Burned onto my breast.
Mark, Goal,
Bull’s Eye
Painted on my chest.

I think Satan needed a friend
And that is where you came in.
You fly along with your black wings.
Sending arrows whistling.
With shafts carved from Adam’s ribs.
Love with gold is scribed and writ.
Fletchings of a white dove’s feathers.
Psyches fell ill because you led her.

Target,
Black Dot
Burned onto my breast.
Mark, Goal,
Bull’s Eye
Painted on my chest.

Error was born with the thought of Eros.
Armor is donned due to the deeds of Amor.

Your arrows pitch and yaw
As my feet fly.
I’ve known so long
That this boy is blind.
Arrows strike me now and again.
In the back, chin and hand.
None ever rightly land.
It’s the error of Eros.
The faults of Amor.
And these missed shots
Make my red heart a w***e.

Target,
Black Dot
Burned onto my breast.
Mark, Goal,
Bull’s Eye
Painted on my chest.

I think Satan needed a friend
And that is where you came in.
You fly along with your black wings.
Sending arrows whistling.

I pray that one day
Your aim is true.
That your beautiful mother
May guide you.
To send a bolt
Straight through my heart
With no poison
But love on that dart.