Unorthodox Witch

The fierce blase in the long suns blade
just enough for peace
tortured and dying,
a vague staccato cliche

I heard his triumph in the air
A wicked man sitting in his lair
A vanguard feeling of epicure
A masterpiece enchanted and eclair

Face to face in that masquerade
Mirroring each others death
holding each katana blade
a stab on his head, a casket he faced

My wings shielded me with snow
thou art I'm lost in my indifference
shining in great white luminescence
abound to the debacle of an avalanche snow

Holding the last card of ace
entwined by the cheats of notorious lay
Winning that goal in my initiation
trapped in my own intrinsic, in cruel
and vogue I'm wicked sick

The magic I learned,
a trick I twitched
paper masks scattered cursorily
the unstoppable renaissance of the Unorthodox Witch

- I did this one during my drafting summer class.

- arr. eim bored