Trapped behind a dark haze of cloud
is the silver Goddess of the night.
Her face is of pure pewter proud,
and to my life She claims a right.

I chain and bind and chambers lock,
to save me from Her cold caress.
but at my guards She does not balk,
at my face shimmering hands press.

Now bathed in light silver wan,
the cold, like needles my flesh pierce.
Her creul touch is my line's true bane,
She makes out spirits wild and fierce.


Now I follow Luna's beams bright,
through dark streets and lighted knolls,
faster than men could run at night,
until at dan the church bells toll.

Wherever I tread, things die,
their souls bound to earth for my deeds
Later, belly low in weeds I lie,
calling for my Lady to heed.