She spends her time ballroom dancing with the dead,
And there isn't a dark tale she hasn't yet read.
She likes black dresses trimmed in matching lace,
Carries herself with a ghoulish sort of dainty grace.
She says that sad songs are what feed her soul,
While cemeteries are her favorite places to take a stroll.
You can see madness when you look in her eyes,
Perhaps even the spectre of your own demise.
And there is something so very odd about her kiss,
A feeling like some writhing thing come from a dark abyss.
An affection so beautiful yet so dark and so strange,
That with every touch I feel my mind derange.
It is true that I love her quite dearly,
But it's frightening that she knows death so clearly.
For sometimes when we lay side by side
To linger and laugh and let our souls collide,
I can feel my hold on reality beginning to waive
And I know she'll be the one to take me to my grave.