Poor Phoebus, he should have known
Better than to leave her alone
For the moment that he left
His bride was quite adept
At opening the doors of her cell
The urge to breathe compelled
Her into a maze of the dead
To go where only she led
To only motivation she knew
To go where nothing grew
Poor Phoebus, his greatest fear
That his love might disappear
Governed his every action
And thus, even satisfaction
Would not sate the appetite
Of his precious earthly delight
And, cherish her though he did
Still she yearned to be rid
Of her richly gilded cage
And her inexplicable rage
