The sleep of the sword does not answer my call
Sweet Jezebel sways with the winds of the fall
While the Goosegrass loudly beckons, singing to stay
The Foxgloves, they whisper “one day, one day”.

I’m longing to be respectfully flame-farewelled
But the Lion’s Tooth sees that my dreams are dispelled
In the sweet summer madness, my Devil’s Milk pride
Shrivels and dies; looks like Ring-a-Bells lied

With a wave of my hand the swan of blood lands,
And the spear-din begins
With a noble glance the troops advance
Chieftains or kings, breakers of rings

The winter begs death and the is-ness of song
My soft sophomania playing along
A hymn on the psaltery drifts for a dime
Of seven sweet maidens missing in time

Tell me plainly, why does the spring make me ill?
Pale, shaking hands cling to the old timbrel.
A melodic pain, the kind honey can’t draw out.
And the whispering doubt, **** as sauerkraut

With a wave of my hand the swan of blood lands,
And the spear-din begins
With a noble glance the troops advance
Chieftains or kings, breakers of rings

You were never cautious with your art,
I was always careful with my heart
Unless I poured it out like a dove
Are you mourning me from heaven above

I am mourning you from hell below
I guess that freedom was not the way to go
And the old dried herbs sing from above my grave
I’ve never behaved, I’ve never been brave

With a wave of my hand I watched your blood land
On my ***** kitchen floor
Without a chance, in a frightened stance
No longer poor, I walked out the door
The final test, was it for the best?
No belt hook swings, pale, wicked things
My freedom came at the price of the flame

Farewell my lover,
Fare thee well.