Graveyard

When I came to the cemetery
The moon was on the sky,
The heavens were blood red 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 morning 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 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 my mind 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 just can not stand in my eyes,
'cause ravens aren't gravediggers, are birds.


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