Mourners
Meagre trees in the shrouds,as old as the stones....Mourners of abandoned love,fornever their woes shall grow silent.
O how many times may the moon has shone -reflected in these black lakes?Should it be that we can hear,the woes of those who ceased their lifes?
O so old they are...they bare the neverending grief...Age-old miserabilityAncient bitter beauty
Lost is the hope of those,who walk the moors with pain in heart...and all joy it sinks,burried deep, forever presumed dead.
O so old they are...they bare the neverending grief...Age - old miserability,a bitter beauty thrilling me