The funeral fire dances, is twisted, flies and dances, And from high heavens the moon pours the midnight light

The funeral fire dances, is twisted, flies and dances, And from high heavens the moon pours the midnight light. And fire language the roast to me will cool a soul, — Tempted at the night, I will break in the afternoon the given vow.

Лиза Джейн Смит, Избранная