ANNA 2. I met her before the come of my born,

 ANNA 2.
I met her before the come of my born,
Borne in the bowel of immaculate hands she's formed,
At that corner bent head of a beast she lives by the feast,
Zero bacchanal life, full of gods wine,
Adam's ale that quench desires; tongue unsatisfied,
A vessel as weak as a tank possessed with all,
Seed of greed, deadly sins that give more,
ANNA, moves, she moves and keep the earth on silences; shh!
She's a King, majesty be the sticks upon her head, let them spin!
From the dust of dust she opens up like a lotus,
Standing forehead high to the spirits of the sun to own the corpus,
Anna was before time was built in her chest,
Running against the wetness of consciousness,
Let the rain be sealed in her eyes,
Purple laughter after another die,
It's all a game, she learns to win when the loss is on obvious roll,
Roller coasters and fun riders! A basic pleasure below her man,
Mantras that divide divinity into her purity's harm,
ANNA! Anna! I met her before the come of my born,
Born in an ocean of thoughts and thirsts for ales untouched,
She dives to die smiling,
Let the red burn her into purple and blue ashes,
Yes! She's black, and the nightsky know.
She's black, black as black is gold!
ANNA! No! Not covered on leaves,
Anna! A fictile who cries life just to live.