Soul and heart and spirit dead.
Mind on pain and suff'ring fed.
Pale and fell, smooth-sweet voice,
Innocent timbre; here by choice.

Evil blood and hands so lithe;
Death your church; and loss your tithe.
Reach through bars to claim my soul.
Go I hither - leave not whole.

Stay my touch, I can't, and won't,
And would you warn me off...then...don't.
For though your warmth is frigid ice,
Love's great reward is this great price.