They see me beautiful, porcelain and fair, starry eyed for the night with powdered ebony hair. A rose glorifying the hour as the twelfth stroke chimes. Yet I know how to wither the flower without spending a dime.
At court, I’m alight, straight-laced and prim but when the masquerades over, I delight in the grisly and grim. I’m not shall we say what appears on the tin.
What once in the fifteenth century was triumphant and brilliant upon my arrival in the eighteenth became survival of the fittest!
The ceilings adorned with cherubs plucking at harps and below we float upon clouds to the genius of a dandy Mozart. But when the curtain falls on this night I’ve a plan for my evening’s sweetheart.
For him it’s destined fatal, like Gustav the third of Sweden after we’ve waltzed as a carnival he will lay bleeding. My dish of tea will be one century spoiled by assassination.
Ridicule me, I’m never afraid, I should be praised! For I rock, shock and mock all in a crimson cascade. They once saw me beautiful, porcelain and fair. I was starry eyed for the night, with powdered ebony hair. A rose glorifying the hour, as the twelfth stroke chimed and I could wither the flower without spending a dime.
The voices in my head brought my world to a spin, “your carriage waits,” the coachman said and so I hopped right in but unbeknownst to me I’d been had, apparently I’d turned mad, punished for the terror I did bring. So to the slammer they threw me in behind the bars where I now sit and I sing.

INVIA LE CORREZIONI