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In the dismal night-air dressed
I will creep into her breast
Flush her cheek and blanch her skin,
And feed on the vital within.
Lover, don't trust her eyes
When they sparkle most, she dies;
Oh mother, don;t trust her breath,
Comfort she will breath in death;
Father, do not strive to save her,
She is mine, and I must have her;
The coffin must be her bridal bed,
The winding sheet must wrap her head;
-Flush he cheek and blanch her skin,
And feed on the vital within-
Lover, don't trust her eyes
When they sparkle most, she dies;
Oh mother, don't trust her breath,
Comforth she will breath in death;
The whispering wind must o'er her sigh
For soon in the grave the maid must lie;
The worm it will riot on heavenly diet,
When death has deflowered her eye.
The whispering wind must o'er her sigh,
For soon in the grave the maid must lie;
The worm it will riot on heavenly diet,
When death has deflowered her eye