To no surprise, he sees you weep
Your former love entombed at six feet deep
That Sunday evening
You know it all too well
Your hands so frigid
And all attempts had been made to dispel
The notion that you just wouldn't die
Thank goodness for the lumber
Your husband cultivated for the night
Wealthy nobles, a class above the top
Your fortune, everlasting, but this glee is shattered by a
"With temperatures so below, who could be so mad?"
They gaze upon the front door
Uncertain what bedlamite
Would dare approach this lovely home
In arctic climate in midst of the night
They gaze upon the front door
Unaware what bounty lies
For her husband's head delivered
To a man willing to pay the price
Former peasant, treated as a slave
Now with capabilities
To put his former master in a grave
The assailant awaits the door to creak
His blade glimmering mystique
"Into the night escapes your soul
Profusely bleeding, body cold
Muscles relax after I pull
The blade from your chest, off I go
Collect my wages
My fund for mages
To become eternally made
Vampiric destiny awaits"