snow atop her gravestone falls
sitting by, a madman calls

from the dead to his bride
during his search on his dark ride

on his naked skin the flakes do not melt
against his flesh nothing is felt

except the ghost of her feather touch
and inside his heart in sorrow's clutch

his memory, a cat with footsteps soft
about his head and gently aloft

until it bears its claws so deep
into his eyes and lets blood seep

until the world is red and black
and only revenge can get him back

to his beloved, his only one
who escaped the pain when so wrongly done

he should not have looked, he would be with her
but now is lost in this dark detour

tiny footprints in the snow
the painful patterns always know

where to find him in his attempted rest
and tred so lightly upon his chest

"Don't look!  Don't look!"  push it away
if the claws sink in they will stay

and grip you in depths of despair
"You have work to do, boy.  Don't go there."