_{In darkest eve, I so forthright believe
placed upon my sleeve, my heart must bleed.
Though I wish for penance, how softly
breathes this plague, of sweet resonance.}

_{Sword! You cannot wound me.
Gun! Your death will not woo me.
In sickness and in health,
how sweetly, you try to outdo me.}

_{But grief, it is the treacherous poison
of which we must all beware.
It seeps into body; drains the soul,
and as we weep, it sets the snare.}

_{In loss we may swim, forever in plight
as drown we do, in chill and bite.
For in darkest eve, I so forthright believe
placed upon a platter, my heart I feed.}

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