On a chain around her neck
There hangs a vial of blood.
A tiny prick was all it took
For him to prove his love.
A tiny prick to prove her love,
Blood upon the sheets.
Then he was her’s and she was his
Her love was his to keep.
He didn’t love them, this she knew
Though vials he gave them all.
They didn’t love him as she did
Or else they wouldn’t fall.
She found the spell to prove to him,
A potion for the crime.
For true love could never die
From poison in the wine.
The sacred chalice, tainted thus,
Was passed from hand to hand.
And soon they fall as if asleep
Upon the grassy land.
Last of all, he looked at her,
In horror and in fear.
He wouldn’t touch the chalice now,
Screamed to keep her clear.
He never loved her, twisted girl,
Vile little creature.
He’d taken what he wanted then
And now sought to escape her.
“They sleep, my love, don’t run away,”
She calls to draw him near.
“Please hold me, love, I’m so afraid!”
He hugs away her fear.
A tiny prick to prove his love,
Blood upon her hands.
Her dress is ruined, stained red,
His love she now commands.