What if I were to pluck away her wings?
With word and wound I’d bind her flesh to mine
Then would she love or loathe me, weep or sing?

And if she succumbs to this serpent sting
Then my sins, to her heart they are consigned
What if I were to pluck away her wings?

And perhaps I would want to pull her strings,
To see her dance while I confessed my crimes.
Then would she love or loathe me, weep or sing?

And if I were to cut away those strings,
Would she stand by me, even for a time?
What if I were to pluck away her wings?

If I had reveled in her suffering
Read the anguish in the arch of her spine.
Then would she love or loathe me, weep or sing?

I hate her for this hideous craving
Yet she craves me as if I were divine.
What if I were to pluck away her wings?
Then would she love or loathe me, weep or sing?

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