Speak not, of those bright days
When 'mongst the flowers and cros't sunny hillsides
we did wander...
O bright friend, speak not
Of times past and best forgotten,
Each breath may be the last.
It cannot be, not e'er again
that we should tread those paths
of wonderment and fleeting joy...
'Tis gone and no more can be captured.
Love, utter not, Return, return,
Return, O light of Day!
Would that I might, for all that joy
Has long since passed away,
And darkness now is not for slumber...
Search not for me
a nightmare-shadow,
For what we knew has gone.
Madness remains. Death remains.
Close those lips of wine, don't
Offer me another taste of honeyed life.
I can no more partake...
I lie with worms and beetles now,
I fly on leathered wings!
