Beneath the moon’s cold, silver glare,

Whispers dance in the midnight air,

Of lips once soft, now cruel and bold,

Touched by blood, both new and old.

Crimson drips, a velvet stream,

From kisses sharp as a lover’s scream,

Each breath a threat, each glance a vow,

Binding hearts to shadows now.

The night, it trembles, the stars they weep,

As crimson stains the silence deep.

A kiss of sin, a touch of fate,

The heart beats slow, too late, too late.

In the garden where roses die,

Beneath the glassy, soulless sky,

Lovers part with bitter grace,

Leaving only a bloody trace.

These sinister kisses, sharp and sweet,

Leave no escape from love’s deceit.

In crimson’s glow, all truths are bent,

In blood’s embrace, the soul is spent.