Persephone presses her feather pen to an open vein and sings Demeter passes her bone thin hands through flames that will not maim for fear of those women who brought death out of spite
Where poor Hades sat upon his throne enthralled by such a pretty face cowled old woman whispering words in his ever ready ears to snatch away such a "blossoming flower" And he to be the one that's blamed
Winter as the mother wanders the land her tears streaking frost upon the grounds "Woe is me, my innocent daughter! Gone in a waver of a flame! Let the world suffer, Woe" and so the world begins a slow demise
Pretty persephone lies in wait like a spider upon her silks "Eat but a fruit and nothing more 6 seeds of the many there are percise or trapped you will be, do this my daughter presephone! beguile the wits of a passing imp to procure the fated fruit if ever you loved me let this be the rite"
and supped from pomegranite cup to bring winter upon the earth for Demeter's silent revenge So the Gods may know her worth and tremble in their beds
To suffer but a passing time in darkness without sun glady did I give it up and though I am married to a man I cannot love nor stand here my confession writ in victorious exalted hand.