The Stars.

She’s a wild one. She’s the “Mad Woman Wandering in the Moors”; She’s a Maenad — crowned in snakes, With a laugh like Rolling Thunder And a Funeral in her mind. She’s the “Girl That Laughs at Funerals”. She’s got a tongue like lightning— Quick and bright and beautifully deadly. She dances with Death by moonlight, Flirts with Death like He’s her best friend. She’s got a passion in her heart That leaves the gods in awe As she rages against the heavens. She licks love and blood off of knives, Tragically beautiful and contagiously insane. She’s got a deep love in her soul. She’s sublime and most divine. She’s a poet. She’s a poem. She’s poetry.