I gave my rib to Eve back then, But never believed she would see other men. On the blasphemous sands, we were icons Now as love understands, I am no one. The bleeding apple of temptation, Succumbed to the moral, of once bitten, forever taken. I gave my heart, Of which she accepted, Hers was chastity for an ex resurrected. We witnessed the art forms of our past, And the mystery of 'Doisneau' was cast, Into her emotions that for he was strong, For 6 years is long, So how can our future belong? Within the flames of our genesis, The index reflects an evil nemesis. One that even now remains uncertain, For our love is shadowed by 'Fionnans' curtain. The perfection of reminiscence Is always more attractive, than a present persistence. Galway was our birth premature, And now I know I am insecure, For I received no where near what you gave him, Should you go? And save yourself, save him? Then I possess reminiscence, And you possess a present persistence. All we have done, you have done already, All we have seen, you have seen before, Yet I must believe this love is steady, But I believe in nothing no more, As once you believe you become blind, And you become strangled, by the tie that binds. One day I'll be happy, Where blasphemous sands will follow me To those crucified hands, To a place preserved virginal and pure, To breathe my fabric, To be my moral, Like coral awashed on no blasphemous shore.