I slept in death's rest
and succumbed to the touch of ecstasy
but even if your breath races in the coffin
you're still making love to the void.

I sold my soul to haste
and sweat and other sweetly salty smells
and now I feel the carrion
feast upon my tender life.

Now shattered is the photograph
; the mirror somewhat pale in deceit.
I gave the world to you
and all of my innocence too...

I deserve the banshee wails
and throatfulls of my blood ,
so kiss me my farewell
as the nightshade flowers bud.