The hound is yapping at my door,
a cry to enter nevermore,
where nothing is and nothing was,
and Death's dark deeds exist because.
Death beckons me and bids me come;
His gesture's followed by a hum.
His scepter's topped with a large crystal;
it has the severity of a pistol.
Shut up, you infernal dog.
I'm not frightened by Death's fog.
You can yelp and you can cry;
You shan't make me spare a single sigh.
Death's my master but I'm his mistress.
It causes him untold conniptions.
Still, it's me he must please come night,
or else I'll banish him from my sight.
Tonight he's killed. I can't bear the reek.
A bloodbath was it? Or drowned-at-a-creek?
Blood drips from his designer clothes;
A gory death it seems he chose.
No, no, dear lad. You can't come in.
I'm perfumed, pressed and ripe as sin.
Go wash yourself and once cleaned up,
I'll see if there's something for you to sup.
What's that you say? You'll go away?
Leave me for a sweeter maid?
Go travel past the seven seas-
I know you will come home to me.
I'm your one vice. Your one delight.
I cause your passion to ignite.
Possess whatever you may wish;
In the end you'll trade it for my kiss.
Behold! You see, I am Death's Mistress
and cannot be frightened by his grimness.
I know every sunken inch of skull
by which he frightens the lost gull.
And in the end, he's mine, my love;
my sweet Death. My gentle dove.