The woods are lonely, dark and deep.
Stopped between mountains and frozen lake.
The darkest evening of the year,
I came and wrote upon a cross of wood
For the rotting flesh lying under foot.
And on the mournful stars gazed up above.
The eagle watches from his mountain walls.
Good bye to the sun that shines for the dead no longer.
Now sleepy death summons him down to Acheron,
That cold shore.
There is no bride song there, nor any music.
She softly whispers your welcome to the endless darkness.
Where the blue sky turned to black
And the moon remains a frozen hidden memory.
One would say that the earth
Is the way of all flesh.
And the sea is the way of all souls.
The very dead of winter.
Oh, starry night! This is how you wished to die.
