Mockingbird, your twisted song Of love, and dance, and mirth Tinge my scarlet heart with white And give my soul rebirth Rest my mind with naive dreams Give me once a cotton bed Tell me of my unlit means And rob me of my dread. Once your song has finished fast Leave me on my own. Give me hope of death at last. And so my fate be sewn.
After writing single poetic lines of nonsense for a while, I pieced this poem together. Its title was given after the tone reminded me of a witch's incantation.