Empyrium - Mourners

Meagre trees in the shrouds,
As olde as the stones.
Mourners of abandonåd love,
Fornever their woes shall grow silent.

O how many times may the moon has shone -
Reflected in these black lakes?
Should it be that we can hear,
The woes of those who ceased their lifes?

O so old they are
They bare the neverending grief. Age-old miserability
Ancient bitter beauty

Lost is the hope of those,
Who walk the moors with pain in heart.
..And all joy it sinks,
Burried deep, forever presumed dead.

O so old they are
They bare the neverending grief
Age - old miserability,
A bitter beauty thrilling me