Mimic

a being of light, isn't always right, a benign sight, could cast a plight, for stories told, of fairies old, that meets the mimic, of grey and cold, I follow thine eyes, to the sight of graves, where you will mimic me, until the end of days, hold on, bleed me dry, the fairies hand, gouges my eyes, unforgiving, nature's beast, will they let me live, or say goodbye at least, hollow is their hearts, dark is their lives, but they will kill you, while mimicking your cries