Too many masks hide no face beneath.

Too many beings, no one to be with.

No, won’t make me grade

Black Masquerade...,

Till I could find you,

 One of a kind.


Thick is the make-up, powder and paint:

Love either lust, both pleasure and pain.

Won’t lead me astray

Dark Cabaret…,

Till I could find you,

One of a kind.


Some hearts are to sing, some are to bleed.

Too many Eves, where are you, Lilith?

Uncertain, Astarte !

Since we’re apart,

Night dews are not sweet,

bitter caress…


My demoness