A lovely lady dressed in black and red
is sitting silent in the darkened room.
She's keeper of the silk and of the thread
her capture sleeping neatly in its tomb.
So beautifully ensnarls her fangless foes
she dresses them in freshest finest silk.
Such gentle preservation lacks morose
a barter of the bleeder: mother's milk.
Decorum of the harvest always wins
the sacrificed forever housed as saints.
Repent before the hourglassing spins
Repent before your wills become restraints.
O holy haunting spirit of the wake
I give my blood, if only mine you'll take.
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