Tourmented by daemons
Whispered nothings in her ear
"Hold your wickedness close, my Lady"
Even closer, naught of fear.

Dance upon the strings, my lovely
Each your own petulant design
Raw, malicious, with tongues so delicious
Testament to what you'll consign.

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Lupar, in the year 639 AF.