Longing again for the turn of spring,
to take me from this world of sin.
No longer will men speak my name,
for before me death will show my fame.

Now they cry for an innocent maiden,
who never returned from the first time she was taken.
The man who kills at touch,
keeps me tightley within his evil clutch.

Cry not for me people above,
just keep me alive with the pouring of blood.
For with his love he kills springs rebirth,
salting the now dead and barren earth.

imprisoned with his revolting seed,
i wish that in his presence my eyes could bleed.
for tears do not turn him from his desire,
to love me deeper in hells fire.