the muted silver cloak above
has bore the frosted rain
that with a flair of brokenness
so seemingly can pain
 
with the aimless wind that blows
while thunder calls to me
and lightening strikes the earth again
from where we are not free
 
o murderess, o my murderess
just what have you begun?
our love, i see it  laying dead
for all the things you've done
 
from where we both had dreamed, and dreamed
once when your looks could lure
a thing of such amended lust
which brought my heart to blur