A white candle I gently light and hold,
Its little flame is spirited and bright.
Its simple flicker distorts the shadows,
Unveiling dark things in its light.
Wax trickles down the candle, falling modestly,
Unashamed, unafraid, but ignorant of its short life.
It is lonely, but seldom alone,
Secretly dying to live as my wife.
It is much like you, beauteous Christine,
So pure, so fiery in all you are.
Your siren voice makes stars tremble in awe,
Maddening enough to drive men to war.
It ends me to think that one day, you'll die,
As I sadly see the candle flicker its last and fade.
Without you, hopeful candle, my only light,
There is nothing but darkness; all is decayed.
Christine, sweet Christine,
I hear your ghostly, entrancing laugh resound,
Reminding me now that I speak to myself.
You're a lovely, free flame; I'm beastly darkness bound.
Ah! My heart! Spurned too long by love,
Met without mercy too many lonely days.
My bitter tears shatter, breaking as brittle as ice,
And my eyes are lost ashes as sanity frays.
Oh, I hate this emptiness,
These gaunt echoes of love's prison.
Christine, fleeting Christine!
I am frigid in the world's derision.
I anxiously, madly desire you, tender light,
To flicker forever for me without fright,
To hold me captive until nothingness consumes us.
Please, help me make this music of the night.