When the sun goes down, she wears a long face,
Then she takes her anti-aging pills, and a necklace,
As if she wants to live forever young, she takes a pace,
Straight to the bathroom, her most sacred place.
Then she sits on her dressing table, for about three hours,
Beautifying herself, the little victim of ours,
She dresses her bed, with perfumes and some flowers,
Waiting for imponderables; her darkened powers.
She prepares the table, for the one below,
The one that enters, not through the door,
The midnight incubus, initiates the show,
He does so heavily, until the cockcrow.
Early the next day, a husband comes,
He finds his sweetheart, speaking in tongues,
Her slim body tattooed, with talons and fangs,
For her midnight visitor, had stolen her lungs.
He cries like a baby, for leaving her alone,
Then he holds her hand, ‘Oh baby I’m home’
Only then when he realize, she was long gone,
On the table was a letter; on it was a big stone.
He use to come every day, at the midnight,
Whenever I refused, he would start a big fight,
Threatening to eat me, that my heart was his right,
He loved it in darkness, he hated the light.
I had no the choice, Oh poor unlucky me,
I heard no your voice, you never called me,
The thought got me moist, nobody warmed me,
So he came to hoist, the flag that dangled me.
If we’re to meet again, maybe in the next life,
I won’t bear the pain, that of being your wife,
And I’ll wash the stain, the blood on my knife,
And I’ll curse again, for ruining my life.