Spare me your pity and give me your spite,
‘tis a heartier diet for my kind of sprite.
My mothers are banshees who prey on your tears,
my sisters, the furies who feed on your fears.
The daughter of those who wail in the night,
the playmate of sirens, who in sailors delight.
In this land of faery, nightmares are formed;
my lips are the gateway, knight, be forewarned!