I was his reason for living;
He called me Dark Moon, his muse.
I helped him to the bitter end,
to help him cross, I held his cues.
Sweet poetry and sagas of the heart
he wrote explicitly for me,
and when he couldn't sleep at night
I'd stimulate his mind to sleep,
to dream, the succubus at her prime.
So how do I go on now,
his words are buried in the sands of time
memories all but lost, his body to pyres consumed.
So if I am a demon, how can I walk on hallowed ground?
How now does my sister, White Moon,
shine and smile upon my pain,
and while i'm still in my mourning gown?
It's funny how I feel no cold or pain
from the frosty winter tundra here
All the rest considered, I thought I was
turning into a human after all;
an Ice Queen strayed from her palace
to capture men by her thrall.
My lord, my blessed wordsmith
how I wish you could come back to me;
Where do I go from here, what do I do now....
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