Does she craft a necklace,

Craft a song,

Craft a poem

To lament the fading dawn?

 

Does she tie them around her feet?

Does it changle,

Does it bangle,

Does it shine upon a tree?

 

Beneath a quivering sound,

Does she plant them in the ground?

As she harvests innocent souls,

Does she weep,

Does she sing,

Of all the unseen things?

 

Does she whisper,

Does she breathe,

Does she burnish her mark upon the trees?

 

Does she plant them by her bed?

Will she grind them into soup,

Will she paint them in the sky?

Does she use them as her dice,

Tempting fates with the price?

 

Does she craft a funeral dirge

As she plucks souls with her knife?

 

Will she ever take your life?