The blood is swift where flows the life
A sharp and cold unyielding knife
Did once give sweep to crimson race
As acid tears caressed her face

She yearns for black and silent sleep
--Will no one claim her soul to keep,
To drown this ancient endless pain,
To cleanse her soul in crimson rain?

All passions cold and dreams denied
Despair-consumed, the soul has died
Upon a windswept sea soaked strand
A knife was placed into her hand

No last reprieve--her life must end
Will no one dare to call her friend?
All men are made of flesh and bone
Yet she, condemned, must stand alone.