‘Neath the Spanish moss hanging

over the icy Colorado river

in the blackest of night,

there stands two figures

holding on to what is left of life,

one the owner,

the other there to collect a debt,

the deed a done deal,

signed on the dotted line.

Christmas ribbons once braided

in dark, silky hair now lay

unraveled at her feet,

velvet gown in his grasp,

sweet angel fallen -

Do you hear what I hear?

Silver bells ringing from

the chapel on a hill faraway

in the still of a silent night,

where all that stirs is

the final breath escaping

blue lips that once having

gotten their turn,

lost all crimson shading

after being kissed by death

disguised as St. Nick

waiting under the mistletoe.