Every year I come to the cemetery,
Our journals of love, I do carry.
Three years have passed since my lover's death,
With his own, he took my breath.
Shadows around me move on their own,
I see a face made of sacred stone.
My darling angel, where are you now?
To live this life, I do not know how.
Staring at me is the jilted moon,
Who never had his over which to swoon.
Six centuries had turned into six feet,
The wholeness I once felt has become incomplete.
I hang my head to weep at our seperation,
To fully experiance what is now desperation.
As I hang my head, I do not know why,
But I feel eyes staring at me as I cry.
When will the season of winter pass from my heart?
And I know, it is when we are no longer apart...
