I bat my eyes,
Make knees go weak,
Poor fickle fools,
Can’t help being drawn to me.
I can make them do whatever I say,
With a warning not to cross me,
Or in blood they pay.
The Siren calls… loud and clear,
There’s no escaping it,
You can’t block your ears,
Souls I gather,
Moans and screams I hear,
Ego fueled in the name of their fear.
Men can be weak.
Men are too easy,
They fall all over themselves,
For a chance to try and please me.
Wishing to posses my heart,
Hold, love & squeeze me,
But Sirens live their lives alone,
Moving freely.
I can’t be caught,
I can’t be trapped,
Cannot be fooled by any act.
And with three eyes I can see,
The victims falling: they’re so weak…
Too weak…
They can only stand small doses of me.
I read lies & deciept,
So fluently so,
They label me crazy…
But even still, against their will,
Like flies to shit, they’re drawn to me.
So… I collect their souls,
Their insecurities I expose,
Digging deep and far,
Able to see these little boys
For what they are…
I decide when I’m done,
And I set em to the side,
Then I smirk a little bit,
From their pain, I am full & satisfied.
It’s a Siren’s job to take men’s’ lives,
And this was the fair warning.
You won’t return to yourself,
Once you’ve looked into my eyes,
… you’d be compelled bow before me.
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