From an inkling, a mirror image of lust is burned at the back of the mind for this, love is the poison arrow as shot by our insatiable desires - love itself, so behind Self indulgence in the guise of commitment, where romance engages the eros dance behind it, is a ballad of an unsacred tune that plays the mind into a trance To own and to enslave, not of soul but of body the heart here is eclipsed, the heart is in a malady There's flesh to burn, bones to grind and minds to disengage the flame that burns is filled by the substance 'erotoxins' that overflows past the gauge The subjects thirst hungrily as the willing slaves the place of their accursed captivity, is where love raves