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Death—
My favorite toy,
My steadfast love—
Black as the cat's cradle,
Betrays the womb;
Empty, empty
Wind rushes through.
(tick tock tick tock)
I sever loyalty with the living.
Panic creeps coldly onto my neck;
The cradle falls, into the deepest blue upon blue
Ditches of dark dreams sighing hands smooth over.
November rains red;
The ground thirsts with wrath.
Blood will have blood.
Now I prowl with drawn sword,
Among eerie clamors of decaying souls
To that grave of sacrifice between the crosses.
Death, my love, I come all in white,
With my heart on my fist
And murder stains between my legs.
I wish to negotiate:
Lifting out the cradle—
smri,
Píslarváttr
Unde et memores—
(tock tick tock tick)
I slither down into the grave.
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