One Step Closer to The Crone,
One Step Farther From You;
One Step Upon the Stair,
My Burden Almost Through.
For What I Thought Was Love,
Is Only Disarray,
And What I Thought Was Safety,
Is Only Dismay.
One Day You Will See,
By Then Too Late,
With Salt Crusted Eyes
That I Am All You Hate.
For What is The Crone
But a Reflection of You?
A Mirrored Refraction
Of All That You Do?
But I Turn And Walk Away,
As I Always Do,
Head Held High,
Because Death Follows Through.