Mort
Mon amour, I've seen him there-
the reaper by your side,
His unweildy scythe firm in hand,
ready upon hour to strike.
J'taime, mon coeur,
if I could but take your place,
Away from you the angels 'twould fly:
tis I that they would chase.
Mi amor, the nightengale rests
just upon your shoulder,
Singing so sweetly to Thanatos,
each second drawing him closer.
Te amo, mi corazón,
yet all I can do is wait,
By yourside I sit helpless,
as bells toll at your wake.