Graveyard

When I came to the cemetery
The moon was on the sky,
The heavens were red blood fiery,
And the mourning of wind let me know
That all I wished were there, below.
All the nature was still silent, in its quiet sleep,
But I could hear the mourning weep
Of the ravens which just wanted to dig
In the heart of soil, with their claws so big,
Or maybe it was just my impression
Born by a mind which it is so wild,
That even a bird could be a devil's child,
Merging into a sepulchral obsession,
Which followed me since the beginning of night,
When I started to think at the lovers fate,
And I tormented myself until it became late,
And, then, I found out that I was right,
That nightmares sometimes could become facts,
When the rooted ones come out from their stones...
But this image can not stand in my eyes
'cause ravens aren't gravediggers, are birds.


Thus, sitting there, on that tomb,
I heard that the whispers became clear,
And voices were addressed to me, what a thrill!
Stoned by rapture, death was my will.














 I will show you also a sweet dream, next night!