Mephistophles Mourns

I made her out of loneliness
When the garden had fallen still
I sought in her an escape 
From an Eden I never wanted
I let the world blame her
For the sweetness of her gift
I trace my fingers now
On the fateful, empty branch
I try and tell her my story
And ask for her forgiveness
I sit here, alone again
Shall I make another - -
How can I make another?