Too many masks hide no face beneath.
Too many beings, no one to be with.
No, won’t make me grade
Black Masquerade...,
Till I could find you,
One of a kind.
Thick is the make-up, powder and paint:
Love either lust, both pleasure and pain.
Won’t lead me astray
Dark Cabaret…,
Till I could find you,
One of a kind.
Some hearts are to sing, some are to bleed.
Too many Eves, where are you, Lilith?
Uncertain, Astarte !
Since we’re apart,
Night dews are not sweet,
bitter caress…
My demoness