The Wreathe and the Chain - The Autumns

Cold ivory hands

To blood-thursting lips

Lace fingers joined

From whence shall they sip

Silver their eyes

Yet with tongue-swollen lies

Graced with red, fettered rose

Still the smooth venom flows

Soft spoken spells

As their voice often quells

Thus alluring her near

So alone

Come

Fly to me

Fly forever, hold me

Hold me

Polished her skin

Of an ivory blend

Weaving sorrows within

As blue eyes turn to dim

Cherish the wine

Of the fools concubine

Strangling as she fades

So alone

I question why they kissed her

Inside a hollow whispers

Fly