I love you,  my darling, as if I were blood, flesh, and bone,
For I am but clay, and my heart made of cumbersome stone.

And had I walked free, I would kiss you, ask you to be mine,
But I'm bound by nature, a slave like the rest of my kind.

And you are a spirit, a creature of malice and dread,
And when I embrace you, I touch the cold hands of the dead.

It's odd, how I love you, the very thing I should abhor,
But our time is fleeting. Soon, you and I will be no more,

Then we'll be together, at rest, and I'll love you in peace.
So I'll bide my time, wait for consciousness to ebb and cease,

Smile as they erase me, speak words that reduce me to clay,
Free to find you at last, and let the world I left slip away.

The Dybbuk speaks,
He paints himself in red,
His anger flows as styx does,
Long and never ending.
Raging within, he screams in agony.
Lost in darkness.
Did you pray to him, the day he died?
Did you try to save him, the night he gave in?
His candle blown out by the winds.
Into Erebus he walks, and in it he will remain,
until he finds a host he can obtain.