her wretched heart yearned
in a cottage by a forest
where a lone candle burned

in solitude he strummed
as she fell to her knees
and lyre strings echoed
through dense forest trees

she picked up her flute
and played right along
as his harp filled the air
with the viking song

dark winter clouds
danced with the wind
so she started to sing
to the thunderous din

he played to her lyric
with earthy raw lust
seeking sanction within
the walls of drage haus

her aura shone bright
his notes seared with pain
with melodic progression
the skies wept with rain

his private haven
so cozy and warm
with one precious secret
held safe from the storm

she listened for chords
that reflected their dream
and they sliced like his sword
as they bellowed and screamed

the house of the dragon
glows soft in the night
throwing shadows
through dim candlelight

the wench saw his face
looking anguished and wild
'twas her guileless passion
that brought him a smile

his sole candle flickered
yea, it quite nearly died
and the forest grew dark
'neath an ominous sky

the fire wavered still
and it danced on his wall
as she watched it in silence
like a carved wooden doll

the viking played on
with words of rhyme
bespoken with a love
far older than time

her unbridled passion
flowed hot through his vein
as he plucked at his harp
to the pounding of rain

and flush from her heat
he gazed 'round the room
where a lone candle flared
'neath a far nordic moon

the flame smothered
and a dragon took flight
but the wick reignited and
burned through the night

he claimed but one glance
and lightning cracked
as she stood in the storm
wearing rags on her back

stepping out of the rain
into warmth of the lair
she savored his scent
as it lingered there

with gothic speed
a dragon moaned
and with heavy heart
he blindly flew home

the wench stood in silence
transfixed by the flame
of one golden candle
and she felt no shame

no matter hesitation
no matter her pride
no matter his sire
no matter his bride

the dragon flew swiftly
thru cold northern sky
plummeting in angst
toward his castle nearby

and with Viking strength
he trod through the door
and envisioned her eyes
from across the moor

with wine filled chalice
and surrounded by loot
her soul brushed his heart
as he picked up his flute

Drage Haus beckoned softly
'twould be no more repent
as he heard her voice sing
to the dragon's lament

lo' the candle burns steady
as she hungers for the feast
for her lonely heart dwells
in the belly of the beast...