The call is made, to the one he loves  
The smallest fate, lays with the flying doves  
His hopefull heart, to which she stays  
His greatfull trust, to her mocking ways

And with each moment come ticking by  
watchfull is his gazing eye

She left the flowers, layn to trust  
She scorns his care, with joking lust  
A waking dawn, sun may rise  
Apparent to all, the blood red skies

And in coming presense they watch her weep  
fallen to trickery by her own foul keep

When she sees his plan for all  
she wishes she had answered that call.