In the midnight tree,
I heard her calling out to me,
Butterfly wings adorned,
Couldn't mask her succubi smile,
Or devilish horns,
But still she flew,
Majestic, graceful,
and oh so pretty,
And I watched as she sang,
Sang those sweet sweet melodies.

She didn't speak, not in human tongues,
But every word she spoke was true,
"John, John, John,"
I came to her, then from out the tree,
mesmerized, hypnotized,
Her image is memorized,
And she revealed herself to me,
Her naked purity,
Now, I must admit,
with my own sly grin,
That in the air of that midnight tree,
Did I ravish her,
Quite intimately.