歌词
Meagre trees in the shrouds, as old as the stones...
Mourners of abandon'd love, forever their woes shall grow silent.
O how many times may the moon has shone - reflected in these black lakes?
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Should it be that can hear, the woes of those who ceased their lifes?
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O so old they are... they bare the neverending grief...
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Age-old miserability
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Ancient bitter beauty
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Lost is the hope of those, who walk the moors with pain in heart.
...and all joy it sinks, burried deep, forever presumed dead.
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O, so old they are... they bare the neverending grief...
Age - old miserability, a bitter beauty thrilling me