They melt to my touch and bow at my word,
and nothing penetrates our very thin walls.

I am a king and my wife is a doll,
and she has other lovers than me.
But because she is fairer than them all,
I lay back and pretend not to see.

I am a doll and my husband is king,
but my lover is servant and knight.
My husband sees that I recieve everything,
but he never tries to make it right.

I am a lover, and servant, and knight.
We and I serve in the cardboard land.
We watch the raven, just out of sight,
when we aren’t answering our queen’s demands.

I am a raven and my purpose is hidden,
but the clues lie within cardboard walls.
The eldest mother of king, bedridden,
sends me, her familliar, on her dark, enchanted calls.

I am the whithering mother of the king,
and the whispers of the raven keep me strong.
When you hear what I’ve heard, seen what I’ve seen,
would you really think this act to be so wrong?

We are a story, and we never end,
and we are the characters repeated.
Our queen is lust and our kind offends,
and now our story ends uncompleted.