Past the place where spirits flow,
With tattered silk and dirty lace,
Beneath the stone, deep down below,
She left the world without a trace.
Far away from her creator,
From the eyes of stalking jackal
Banished for she was a traitor,
When she cast away this shackle.
She fled to where the day is black,
Where the air is thin and stale,
Where demons breathe upon her back
And maggots crawl upon her veil.
With wild eyes, her skin still bare,
Locked up in an ancient room,
No soul about to hear her prayer,
No knocking at her tomb.
Faced with her reality,
She eluded to a life alone,
And now she craves fatality,
To take the path which is unknown.
In hand a thin and silver blade,
Crusted on it, rust and mud,
And all forgotten words she prayed,
Are now preserved in blood.