A Chorus of tombs in my throat,
A song of dying dreams being buried,
An abyss has my belly become,
An abyss with a beast that knows no tiredness,
I ache like a barren harp, I ache like a broken trumpet,
A song of dearth covers my mouth, I cannot speak,
My hands and feet are bound with the veils of a time lost,
I fret and shiver and get scattered by the whispers of a dark wind,
My portion is now in the palms of death,
My portion is a biting of air and hummed ballads,
I fear death has married me too early

