Well, I've been shot and I've been stabbed.
I've tasted my own blood, I've danced with death.
I've been beat on - whaled upon -
To within inches of my final breath.
Scars, alone, suffice I've paid Life's price,
Yet my worst wound left no traces.
So I got this tattoo to remind me of you,
A woman with two faces.
Perfectly in place, I see but one face -
Glancing over my right shoulder.
Warm and smiling, ever beguiling,
I can't see the face that's colder.
Her fiery crown unveils the imbalanced scales -
Of Comedy and Tragedy.
While Death, from beyond, sprinkles remorse upon -
The weight of Misery
I think it bizarre, set opposite the scar -
Where I gave half of my left lung.
Small penance paid next your grand charade,
And the price loving you hath wrung.
For every body's a temple but mine's a shrine.
So let all the world see.
Torn and tattered, beaten and battered,
The mark loving you left on me.
[This message has been edited by Michael (edited 09-16-99).]