The mountains, dark and wooded, on a winter’s night.
Starlight radiates off the dirty snow, all black and white.
I heard a young woman’s breath, ragged and full of pain.
I turned to look, call her sacred name, on that country lane.
No one. No crunch of feet on icy crusted snow. No naked eye.
I heard a young woman’s breath, hot and torn, stink of rye.
In the sky, a bright, pulsing light, filled with a demon’s hunger.
The stars, in their cruelty, take all hope from us, ever so younger.
I heard a young woman’s breath, but Fae or Demon took her away.
Too late to call her sacred name, no gold coin now can for her pay
the way over to Elysium and those happy and sunlit fields of peace.
Old Men sold us for baubles and gold, and Satan now pays the lease.