She says her lover's died in the plague
She buried him already,
Before you came
Last night, stars bright,
Glinting off her metal *****.

It'd be a disrespect, to uncover the body,
They shrug and say,
Poor widow, lover died of the plague,
And at such a young age.

But check her closet now, don't be afraid,
See the kitchen knife there?
Love's red on its blade.