In Totentanz did Mortevieve
Decree a blackened house of Danse
Through which the Rive D' Sacre weaved
To poison the inhabitants
And in this crypt of endless night
Before me walks the ghosts' parade
In costumes of funereal blight.
Their skin, so white as corpses, laid
Within their boxes as Time's slaves
For him to play with as he pleases.
Their hair, cascading down in waves
And rosaries suspending Jesus
Above their hearts, all cold and gaunt.
I lived among them all these years
And to this day, their souls I haunt
But only one confronts me here
Her name is Mortevieve, our host
Who knows my longing all too well
If strange delight be Beauty's ghost
Then True Love's shadows haunt my cell
When first I spied her features pale
A necrophiliac was born
Undeath, with life, alas, too frail
And for this loss I sadly mourned.
Despite the sacred river flood
Starvation slowly took its toll
To thrive, she needed living blood
And only I could meet that goal.
In love and lust, my soul met hers.
She took a portion of my life
And I received in trade her curse
A thirsty, double-edged knife.
No more could I then satisfy
That instinct in her deadened heart
I gave her warmth, though I had died
Her cold became my poisoned dart.
Two prisoners of love once pure
But love alone could not suffice
Our famished souls could scarce endure
Each other's burning touch, like ice.
There was, however, one way out
She thought, as legends filled her head
For those in dark so long, she thought,
The day could even kill the dead.
At once, toward certain death she leapt
And touched an ancient wooden door
Outside, it's said that daylight crept
Across the earth, but that's before
Sweet Mortevieve built paradise
Protected from the skies above.
She ran from me to Death's device
To split her from appointed love.
I begged her not to loose the latch
That locked the suicidal gate
I hid in fear, and did not catch
The blinding light that sealed her fate.
The door swung shut (by act of God?)
I ran to help her up, but just
A gilded crucifix and rod
Remained beside a pile of dust.
What's left of her is sealed forevermore
Within this case for all the world to grieve.
Edgar Allen had his lost Lenore
And thus with me I carry Mortevieve.
