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The Sick Muse

I would rather rot in beauty Than be healed without you Lyrics and concept by me; music and cover image generated using AI tools. Lyrics include and are inspired by “Les Fleurs Du Mal” by Charles Baudelaire (public domain). Lyrics My muse wakes pale and fevered Her eyes refuse the light She prays to saints of silence Through another restless night Her breath smells sweet with incense And bitter like the ward Each thought a slow infection Each prayer a broken chord She once sang pure and golden With fire in every vein Now every word is coughing Every kiss a kind of pain Her blood runs thick with longing Her faith is thin and torn She crowns her wounds with roses And calls the sickness born Oh sick muse, lie still with me Let the fever take its time Every sin a diagnosis Every prayer a slow decline Oh sick muse, bleed quietly Let devotion bruise and use I would rather rot in beauty Than be healed without you The altar smells of ether The chapel hums with flies The doctor speaks in psalms And will not meet her eyes They promise clean redemption A cure that kills the flame But what is art without the wound What is love without the pain If God demands my silence Then let Him close my mouth But He planted this corruption And watched it flower out Was this affliction chosen Or mercy turned obscene A holy contamination A sacrament unclean Oh sick muse, stay close to me Let the darkness finish through Every verse a complication Every breath a residue Oh sick muse, bless this decay Let it take me slow and loose I was never meant for heaven I was born to die with you