Your scalpel moves across my chest and down to my belly button
Jump back, astonished, as the heart that used to sing you songs crumbles
To black dust in your hands as you pick it up to weigh it.
There is nothing to take a blood sample from- no heart, no blood.
Just the dusty dance of the quiet, eerie music of my special mass.
The candles cast a shadow on the thirteenth century church at midnight,
Where freaks in goulish masks come to wail and weep
You are dressed in your finest funeral regalia,
Your sword resting on your shoulder, a tear makes a river in your pancake,
The horses neigh and stomp
Their breath sending blasts of steam into the frozen air
Their black and silver plumes tremble as they nod their noble heads
The music swells from inside the church, a bell tolls to welcome me home.