regrettable my outburst

but this is just how I feel

on the grid-iron of my fire

scorch marks dont heal

 

bad scrams to your lover

you were always a tart

he'll shortly see through

that hard nutmeg heart

 

my naive sapphire ring

Christmas gift unzipped

in return a Judas-kiss to

a lone moss-lined crypt

 

you callous as quartz

pretending to be fond

beguiling my soul with

that vile witch's wand

 

yet dont crow too loudly

he might prove a hater

rub your nutmeg heart on

a more seasoned grater

 

bad scrams to your lover

you were always a tart

he'll shortly see through

that hard nutmeg heart