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In the deepest darkest wood
i have met the king of my passion
along this winedy path
i follow him and his honey fashion

his sweet perfume
lingers not in a perfect flower
but wafts wild and free in the breeze
that leads trees to cower

my king's tears do not
bring a mild and sweet rain
but a flood that innocent lives
does claim

his anger does not
expell a hot and humid head
but a sickening blaze
that cooks the tender meat

the beauty of my love does not
on the splendid wings of the eagle soar
his handsome face is like a comet
bright and brilliant which the dark sky
it had tore

my honey king is not
peaceful, meek, or mild
but rather loves so strong
that even the free-ist heart does it bind

this is the passion of my heart
that touches not with grace
but his entangled kisses
do drown me in his tidal embrace

this emporer of me
does not have a light and airy step
but his walk sinks inot the ground
to touch the earth's very depths

his nights do not
bring the silent slumber of sleep
but ring with the lust
fanciful dreams do keep

in the deepest darkest wood
i have met the king of my passion
alongy this winedy path
i follow him and his honey fashion