She will dazzle you with music,
And sing you tales of joy,
But you must not give in to her
For all she wants is to destroy.
She'll beg you with her angel's song
Of which one can not speak.
She'll tempt you with a voice of gold,
But you must not be weak.
Her songs will weave illusions
Before your very eyes;
You will never see the truth again
Only a masterful disguise.
Her skin seems that of ivory,
Her hair spun-through with fire,
Her eyes deep-green of emeralds,
The perfect picture of your desire.
In all truth she's a demon,
A foul and terrible beast,
Calling her kind monsters
Is to say the very least.
Her skin is not really skin at all,
But a mess of scales and spines
That gleam of putrid colors
Whose names we've yet to find.
Atop her head's a forest,
Who knows what all's living there,
Thick in clumps and rotten green
One could hardly call it hair.
Her eyes are simply way too large
And colored not human at all,
With rusty browns in swirling depths
There are others I can not recall.
With her songs she draws in human men
And drags them down below,
Past the middle of the ocean,
Down and down they go.
She'll take from them their human seed
To make others of her kind,
And when she's don't she'll eat him
Taking in every bit she can find.
So if you hear a song so sweet
It simply cannot be true,
Plug your ears and turn away
Or the Siren could get you too.