Twirling, beneath Romeo's sweet silhouette; she arches and tumbles, against the floor.
Reckless beauty of each careful step, "the many mistakes..." sang this ugly whore.
Of love that did not belong, or, never to exist. Although, he knew this wrong, yet her flaws no man could list.
She had stopped, for what was found was an object; not song but note untold.
A lonely fiddle laying upon the ground. She picked it up and felt it's cold.
With death on her mind and song In her heart, she played her lovers lullaby.
Violently playing and playing and playing and sinking...she cried on last time.
They found her at night, buried with spite, and clutching Romeo's arm.
With her blood in his bed, "T'was a beautiful death..." they said.
Killed by the one who could do her job harm.