Siberian Winters/You

Siberian winters have nothing on my love

Run, my love, for the dark queen has her eye

On you, casting her spell from above

Wicked on a dusty throne, deep sigh

And moan

From molding corners

Creaking wood and melting jade

Rotting velvet and stained silk

She awakes

Ruminating on centuries old marble and

Stained glass, decaying gold, and

Creaking bones, night falls and you are not

Alone in these halls for long

She hungers and knows you wait

Your scent a barely ripe fruit

Honeysuckle to the gods

Running our games through an old palace

She knows these too well and waits

For you to settle

So she can begin

Give to me of you and let me

Know your taste

Let me touch you

Let me feel you

Because when the clock chimes

You will be mine