Is this how Marlowe’s Faustus felt,
When he signed that bloody contract?
Are these the same doubts
That he felt during and after?

They all blame Faustus,
Saying it was his Pride,
That deadly sin.
But no one speaks of the girl.

The girl that broke him.
As he devoted himself to her.
The quiet romance,
That promised a future.

Forever never came,
God had let him down.
Perhaps it was unguarded Innocence
That led to his fall.

Innocence, that tricky nymph
Rarely found in men, for good reason,
As Virtue calls like the sirens
Towards the jagged rocks.

And here am I.
Was he as broken?
Were his eyes as wet
When he made that pact?