The silent mourners clad in white
Lament in wordless song
Their soundless screams of misery
Are lost in twilight’s ink

They shake their heads as they hear the news
Far too young, they accuse
Far too good for the brush of Death
To stifle her choking breath

Oh, for she was pure of heart
With a beauty, unmatched
Silver tresses spilling softly
Now are pooled around her head
Adorned with crimson petals
Which will never see sun again

But out of the stillness, a voice
She cannot be truly
gone

The speaker wears blood red rubies
Revolting gems that crash
Against the side of his wife’s coffin
As he lowers her
deeper
deeper
deeper

And-
He must be dreaming
Because she whispers
she whispers
From her bed of dirt and soil

You
you did not think
that setting me on fire
would make you ashes too
my love.

Her deafening screams of misery
Are lost in twilight’s ink.