Stone Door

Since 1912, I ventured and delved,

in this country of filth,

but truth be told, i venture so bold

to wash my mind from her silph.

For from the red death, she took her last breath,

my beauty, Eleanora,

in dress of green, her face obscene,

but beauteous still in death.

My betrothed was dead, my money left,

when king and country called me,

to africa, land of death,

In Congo, happy to have left.

But I was stopped, on mountaintop,

for i had seen what cant be unseen,

A gateway of giant stone,

with a dress of green?

The dress was filled by her, oh god,

for what god would have done so?

but in the flesh, without of a drop of red

was my beloved Eleanora.

In shock I was, a right I had

but when our hands collided,

the cold hand of a dead man

was what i felt, and i chided.

with wave unseen, her dress of green,

and her inside it vanished,

a beauty that should have not been seen,

her form and shape had vanished.

And now I pray to god

that in death i may adore her,

because in my lifetime,

I shall never see again the beauty that is my Eleanora!