o' mosquito, stop thee please,
murdering thyself, art thou?
those red liquid are not grease,
halt from sucking! stop thee now!
not a human this little self,
been too frosted for a century,
no more mortal in me that is left,
my heart is away, and remained it be.
o' mosquito, find thee others
of those who are jovial and gay,
i may be alive but so darn tasteless
let me wilt and fade, let me today.