She will come on wings like daggers

Hiding ‘neath a dawn-bright veil

She will pounce on kings and beggars

No one knows what she’ll curtail

Diamonds glitter, lying plenty

Entwined in that pitch-dark mane

Skin lies too; hundred years or twenty?

Either way, she’d be the same:

Digging claws into your life

Inventor of concatenation

What will you do to avoid the strife?

—to avoid the confrontation?

Fate will grab you, try to turn you

Some way you don’t want to go

There is hope for slender few

I just thought that you should know:

I’ve too been grabbed, twisted, and thrown

By the cruel lovely hands of Fate

I told myself I should have known

Would nothing that appetite ever sate?

But she will come on daggered wings

Beneath that veil she’ll ever lie;

Some foreign requiem she sings

As she soars dreamily across the sky.