October Child, hear me whisper,
Wallow with me in my pain.
Forsake the one who steals the flowers,
Making girls cry out in pain.

Hold my hand, my beautiful Guardian,
If I could, I'd give thee a name.
Wrapped in a blanket my muse has left me,
Cold fingers brushing through my mane.

Upon the gravestone, tears have blooded,
Engraved in it a spiky mace,
By the shore a shelf is stranded,
Northern wind blowing on my face.