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In Venice, Italy, my cousin wipes her tired eyes, Because she had been crying all night, She had missed a gondeleir boat ride with her lover, And the talk of the town, she knew he would angrily come to his future mother-in-law's house and beat her, She swallowed the ring he gave her, hoping his love would kill her, She dreamt of his luscious skin upon hers, Frantically moving in circles under the weeping willow, It strangely excited her, For she was only 14, Her lipstick smeared across his face, Strawberries were a perfect touch for a perfect night, The dawn broke their passiou, As it stared down upon them, Voilently grinning.
