I dreamt that they would take you.
You may think me a fool,
But of this I am not wrong.
My dream was real in every way:
The dull, the dim, the black and grey,
In certainty, I saw you fall,
And I will suffer most of all,
If you will not my warning heed,
If you’ll succumb to lust and greed,
And let them take you and make you bleed,
As I dreamt that they would do.

When you are gone, what will I do?
Shall I go home, alone and blue?
What will your father think of you,
Who let herself be taken?

Your sister will cease to play the harp,
Your brother will sit alone in the dark,
Poor mother will own a broken heart,
Her weeping spirit shaken.

Oh, you might think me a fool,
But this time I'm not wrong.
If you’ll ignite that inner spark,
And tell the flame to pierce the dark,
Then you may know the morning lark,
And nothing on Earth can break you.

Still, you ignore my pleas,
As I sink unto my knees,
And nothing I say—
No warning imploring—
Can stifle your hum and wake you.
Alas! I’ll cry, I’ll sigh, I’ll die!
For I dreamt that they will take you.