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Description
Here in this garden made of bone
Is found an old decaying stone
The angel that weeps over her dead
A name so old it can barely be read
And the church bells sound so very near
Just as they did that long ago year
Like the morbid wail of ancient ghosts
Their ring, ring, ringing has a sound so morose
I slowly walk with a single rose in hand
Across this hallowed little piece of land
I will lay the flower upon that grave
Knowing how hard my sorrow will be to stave
My love lies there below the ground
For a century now could he be there found
An anniversary of his death I will never miss
For after all these years I still long for his kiss
He died not long after we were wed
And then Atropos cut my own thread
But my sorrow did not quell with death
I bemoan my misery, though I take no breath
I rise each year on this very day
When the sky is always the same horrid gray
To sit here in the lap of the angel that shares my pain
Mourning that man whose death was my bane

Description
Here in this garden made of bone
Is found an old decaying stone
The angel that weeps over her dead
A name so old it can barely be read
And the church bells sound so very near
Just as they did that long ago year
Like the morbid wail of ancient ghosts
Their ring, ring, ringing has a sound so morose
I slowly walk with a single rose in hand
Across this hallowed little piece of land
I will lay the flower upon that grave
Knowing how hard my sorrow will be to stave
My love lies there below the ground
For a century now could he be there found
An anniversary of his death I will never miss
For after all these years I still long for his kiss
He died not long after we were wed
And then Atropos cut my own thread
But my sorrow did not quell with death
I bemoan my misery, though I take no breath
I rise each year on this very day
When the sky is always the same horrid gray
To sit here in the lap of the angel that shares my pain
Mourning that man whose death was my bane