dementia

 

Twisted tongues do scream in serenaded silence,
The most delicate of words.
Whose tender bones do mend so strong.

This symphony of seraphs sting,
And in them slip his vile hand,
Whose strings I know contort.

Alas! These gears begin their turn,
The immortal decadence of my dismay.
What madness songed does strip thy mortal flesh?