Maiden

Mist surrounds the forsaken maiden
fair as snow, heart on a platter,
pitch black soul.

Blood of the sacrificial wolf painted
on the cracked lips.

Innocent as a lamb, pious as a saint.

Who are you trying to be,
oh good godly damsel?

Have you tried enough?
Have you even tried?

Oh why your doe eyes
have been bleeding crimson,
why your pale skin is being charred.

Sacred flames cleanses you,
the priests bellow at you.

Oh most sanctified maiden,
why do they put you at stake?