Once taken by the river, Orpheus died in my arms.
His heart, ancient and equal to this fallen empty world,
Fades away in the golden truth of all his earthly joy.
He is dull dead. He was drowned there.
In my hands his fate. He coldly died.
Voyage well across the sky my friend.
My pain floats down your river to a waterfall.
And in this light, hearing cries I look up at you.
Your beauty and form appear as great wonders.
Awful and yet beautiful to my hopeless weary eyes.
His face, still now, it rests in cold hands and colder heart.
As I sat and shivered comfortless in this lonely barren land.
In a sullen wood, some years ago, he played a song I didn’t know.
The trees knew me and knew him more. Whispered our names into their lore.
Sing a song of joy with effortless breath. I wrote the words to his death.
So on that day, near the glen, my ink drew up his secret end.
A kiss, your gift to give away so freely.
A gentle suffering thing you were.
So steep they fell, my tears to your lips.
And that night will be forever. And at night we live forever.
And I drew her near to me and away from him.
Sin is the root of all sorrow, so look upon, my well is dry.
Don’t run my lady. Now please be mine.
Come on my lover, you didn’t even try!
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