BalladeAtThirtyFive歌词

ballade at thirty five
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this, no song of ingénue,
this, no ballad of innocence;
this, the rhyme of a lady who
followed ever the natural bents.
this, a solo of sapience,
this, a chantey of sophistry,
this, the sum of experiments,
i loved them until they loved me.

decked in garments of sable hue,
daubed with ashes of myriad lents,
wearing shower bouquets of rue,
walk i ever in penitence.
oft i roam, as my heart repents,
through god’s acre of memory,
marking stones, in my reverence,
i loved them until they loved me.

pictures pass me in long review,
marching columns of dead events.
i was tender, and, often, true;
ever a prey to coincidence.
always knew i the consequence;
always saw what the end would be.
we’re as nature has made us -- hence
i loved them until they loved me.

princes, never i’d give offense,
won’t you think of me tenderly?
here’s my strength and my weakness, gents -