with our blood in satin
drowned in no shame
in the gods' perfume, a sin.
You burned and the people saw
through the white smoke
what we already knew - still in awe
to you fire and sky spoke.
You are to be writings' end, beginning and mean
a high priestess to art that is honest
so we take you as our queen
to the throne where - as would you - Lucrezia sat best.
Take blasphemy in your hands,
turn it sacred with your touch
as for mockery we make amends
in devotion for the human side we love so much.
Bring heaven, purgatory and hell to us close
with the tip of a cigarette
so we never forget to strike the pose
of pretentiousness in the worlds' bet.
Chosen one, golden child
cut us with your blade of grass
as you make proud the great Wilde
and the faith in Beauty shall never pass.
Since life is there for the taken
may you rule to the death
for myth never to be forsaken
either in prayer or breath.