Epitaph.
She was a frail flower on thy hand,
Her enchantment was adent,
Glitter in her eyes
Was clear like infant’s cries.
Now she is a puppet
In the death’s hands,
Gloom is like a carpet
And thy soul put on weeds.
Ch:
Rain is pouring down
As the Sky is crying,
Thou can’t save the epitaph,
Letters and words are washing off.
Black flowers are withering,
Remembrances are gathering hither,
Seduction of killing thine woe
Is growing
And further and futher
Thine soul is flying.
Wind is singing like a harp,
Firmament is beaming like a star,
Thine pain is lonely and sharp
And love and fear are on the brink of war.
Ch:
Rain is pouring down
As the Sky is crying,
Constellation is like epitaph,
Stars’ glitter is washing off.
Black flowers are withering,
Remembrances are gathering hither,
Seduction of killing thine woe
Is growing
And further and futher
Thine soul is flying.
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