The Beauty of Death

No man did set his eyes on her,
A face too pretty to behold.
Her feet that do not tread the earth,
Enchanting eyes, yet dark and cold.

Her face, a veil, that hides the mind,
Filled with venom and scaly thought,
For one may perceive from behind,
Those crafty snakes that scheme and plot.

Hissing beasts that echo her voice,
A tendril of thought from her head.
Manifestations of evil ploys.
For each dirty deed, one drops dead.

Oh ! Medusa ! Princess of death !
Please come to me and take my soul.
Take my heart and waste not your breath.
I hope to be, in you, as whole.

My heart she took and she did feed,
On that nectar of life and fear.
Alas ! I regret lustful greed.
But no more. Now, what I say, hear.

No man did set his eyes on her,
A face too pretty to behold.
But if one must, the price to err,
To turn to stone his heart of gold.