Private IRON MAIDEN - Printable Version

the desert's song; a golden lullaby of hushed cajoles and endlessly, drifting sand, shifts over the barren dunes; the relentless wilderness; swimming with each hiss of hot indignation. is it fiery, sticky and sweltering, as cool sweat buries unto the young maiden's brow. the heat bathing into the ruinous earth. churning golden waves, while the savage blue sky sheds its piercing illumination across the lilac-dusted curves of little evangelina ysuelt. her limbs were numb from endlessly walking. her lips parched, thirsty. she could not remember the last time she had taken a decent sip of water, and with the sun, burning so fiercely across the funeral sky, gave her naught a moment's rest nor grace.

with the blazing heat mounting across the horizon, evangelina walks the desert alone. she is still resplendent and icy. a misted chill descends her curves. her steps emitting a frigid pulse of bright, bright azure. against the golden earth, her ice-blue fire pours in subtle waves of frost; curling around her bodice, like pulsating serpents of eden. our little winter-jezebel is among the desert wilderness. she slides through dunes, the sands shifting beneath her slender grace. a little phantom angel with sunlight and shadow falling around her visage; her ivory face, half-touched in the bronzed kiss of a shimmering halo.

she wanders, mind entrapped within a reverie; long, obsidian lashes dusting the soft curve of her porcelain cheekbone, to sweep away stray and running tears. the last words of her father were singed in her mind. the memory of the wound. the pain. the betrayal. the hurting buried beneath her breast, like a poisoned thorn, seeped in venom; o, how far had she run, run, run. driven by a hunger to escape the past. yet the thoughts of being imprisoned, of being caged, still haunted her mind like the baring teeth of a wild animal. would she ever be freed? her thoughts were a constant plague to her conscious, even as she drives forward into the harsh, blinding day; passing several scuttling scorpions that danced over the insufferably, hot sands, crawling in the shadow of her wake.