I hold your hand in mine, dear. I press it to my lips.

I take a healthy bite from your dainty fingertips.

My joy would be com plete dear, if you were only here,

But still I keep your hand as a precious souvenir.

The night you died I cut it off, I really don't know why.

For now each time I kiss it I get blood stains on my tie.

I'm sorry now I killed you, for our love was something fine,

and till they come to get me, I shall hold your hand in mine.