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Meagre trees in the shrouds, as olde as the stones.... |
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Mourners of abandon'd love, forever their woes shall grow silent. |
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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... |
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Age - old miserability, a bitter beauty thrilling me. |
