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