The procession made its way through the trees,
The suitor pauses to still the breeze.
Lunar butterflies float in paths to light the way,
A gentle swarm of blowflies sent to hold off the decay.

Whispering secrets for her keeper to hide,
Their truth diffused by the watery night.
Death has made her his eternal bride,
The silkworms weave their magic to make her a beautiful sight.

Soft, with everlasting peace,
She rests her head on the heart of the beast.
Her hair like satin and skin as bright as angel dust.
Lying on a blanket of cemetery moss.

The youthful face of Death deceives,
As he’s calling upon a falling star.
Singing a song in the swirling leaves,
Wishing for a final kiss in the dark.