Skippocalyptic - Sea Angel

Fishing lines have rent the flesh
Of an angel of the depths
But rage and pain have left no trace
Upon her beatific face

That is, of course, the lovely lie
Of a hunter of mankind
The mimic figure quite ornate
Belied by how it undulates

Through the glass, beneath the brine
I see her true and golden eye
What mind might wait behind that lens?
One I could not comprehend

But thе modern sea has not been kind
To what might catch in hook and line
Thus thе hunter on the brink
For how long will the siren sing?

I tend her wounds in armored gloves
In service of a wary love
And treat her with the mournful awe
That one must give a dying god