Under this night harpies circle Swaths of red are dripping from their feathers Formed in your youth, call it insatiable Sponsored by one because There in your youth, all but inevitable Born alongside The seer, ghost and savior Even without hunger, they'll skin her As blessed dead assailants Equally they hover and linger Over this earth, onlookers tremble Last rights murmured, smirk, trapdoor, recoil Equally they'll hover and linger Over you