I Don'T Like the Look of Those Scissors, Darling

But a brush and a touch, one parting more. Delilah, Moon-girl, you stole my strong light. I, your Sun-boy, am shorn having blackout, but remember my close shaves, the honey and dead days, my foes jaw-struck, as the long-winded she-ass brays in my ear. With influence silverish, drowning golden locks, the egg-eating fish-god wins for a period till dawn's yellow meets me at the next round. I shake gold pillars in Dagon's stone temple where uncut spectators are dying to taunt me but what do I care for I know you await me, At noon I burn for you, at nightfall I sigh for you, O Delilah.