You move like light on marble stone,
that molten hair, a flame full-blown,
the proud swell of  breasts that rise,
your hips sway slow,
your gaze defies.

They watch with lust, yet none has known
the spring from which my light has grown.
Oh joy to dance, so pure, so mad —
and yet the prize…
… The prophet ‘s head?

Ow! Ooooooh

“Yes, Mother.” Bowing to her will,
I struck to make the hall grow still.
Let all who lusted learn this day!
that none is safe to cross my way.
Let all who lusted learn this way,
that none’s allowed to wish her sway.

If even one who never erred,
who kept me in his thought unstirred,
whose life is pure, and clean the name,
must pay the price they’re not worth claim!

His life is pure, and clean his name,
He pays the price they’re not worth claim.
O John, receive my final dance,
That transient honour to your stance;
we two in history remain —
one crowned in glory,
one in shame.

They two alone in life remain —
One crowned in glory, one’s in shame!
Don’t weep for me, but turn to Him
whose path begun where mine had dim.

Don’t weep for John
but turn to One
whose path began.