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Within the graveyard upon a grim hour, 

she will stand with lips soft and sour.

She stands and she stares, 

waiting; beckoning upon any that dares.

Temptation be what hammers within her heavenly breasts,

driving sinful even the modest and purest.

Lower and lower, she’ll guide them into the grave, 

their soul, none can now save.

For under her lustful whims, the will of even the young, the brave, and and the strong fail,

Whilst she drains them of the warm crimson ‘till their flesh is pale.

Beware her irreverent gaze, her soft lips, and her tongue so savory.

For next to your grave, she’s waiting,

in the Cemetery...