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Too good to be true
She is almost too perfect to be there
 Standing barefoot in that little black dress
 Swirling around her when she glides, i stare
 Why do you move like the black queen in chess
 
 You place a venetian mask where your face
 Should be, where i see smoke leek from your soul
 You don't stay long, you leave without a trace,
 Have you really put your all to this role?
 
 She with her mask does hid from you behind
 Her secret your partings riddled with strife
 For both your deception you'll pay in kind
 A sacrifice most dear, perhaps your life?
 
 Though it may make me odd, maybe no sense
 I meet death amicably no pretense.
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