The slow tickle of fingers down my side, into the sky my heart will fly.
The slow tickle of tears against my lips; the last gift I give before I say good bye.
The slow tickle of the evening breeze on my skin, I will hunt for you in the dim twilight.
The slow tickle of blood dripping down my face; the swing of my blade was almost too late.
I will search for you, look for you, call out your name. Please stay with me; don't die
Without you I am left with only the monsters in the night.