Xasthur - Through a Trance of Despondency

From the gaspings in Her passing
Six feet under or beneath frayed gown
When Her hands pointed to midnight
In a white stained chamber bound

I Swept Her from the abyss of another dementia
Freeing Her soul from the fetters of fate
To take the reins of pleasure
Now nightwane mirrors freeze in seizure
At the glimpse of charmed pins in Her thighs
Ballrooms filled with black cats scratch
Out of spite and playful eyes!