Prisoner, prisoner, prisoner fair.
Streaks of auburn in your hair.
Violet eyes and tender skin.
Death is all that lies within.

Soul and heart and spirit dead.
Mind on pain and suff'ring fed.
Pale and fell, smooth-sweet voice,
Innocent timbre; here by choice.

Evil blood and hands so lithe;
Death your church; and loss your tithe.
Reach through bars to claim my soul.
Go I hither - leave not whole.

Stay my touch, I can't, and won't,
And would you warn me off...then...don't.
For though your warmth is frigid ice,
Love's great reward is this great price.