Such beauty is the scorn of sorrow,
a site that very few adorn.
A fickle one but bound to borrow,
beauty that is sorrow’s scorn.

beauty is the scorn of shadows,
covered full and ever torn.
concerned with frequent fallen fados,
fairness is a shadow’s scorn.

Beauty is the scorn asunder,
split with purity and porn.
Censored from the darkest thunder,
truth asunder from the scorn.

Now the same sight sought to wonder,
what with thunder as its might.
Whether fall and throw, a plunder.
God then wondered what a sight.

Knowing what is right I pondered,
feeling beats in me, chest height.
While the beauty’s sight I blundered,
falling, I fell into night.

That is now which understands,
for sake of falling into pain.
I will recreate my plans,
and break the calling of our chain.