In The Groves Of Death

In the evening of a grey day, a bleak day

I strayed into the dim silence of the hallowed trees

Where the fir-trees whisper of those been, those gone

Where the sacred earth still hides all those we once loved

O father, hear these words, your son is not made for this world

Faint-hearted and careworn, into this vile life I was hurled

In the woods the fiends sigh, I swear I heard the demons neigh

On the seashore I espy the dreadful void under the tides

Ill-assorted with this life, these cares

Each moment I am waiting for the worst to come my way

Dark berry from my mother's womb; a frail one

I was affrighted at my birth, bewildered from the start

Better it would be to stay in the shades

In the thicket of the dead, in the groves of death

Here I would lie to the end of the days

Hear me now, my hapless son

Warn away all yours fears

Make good use of your brief days

Life may be grim but death is more austere

By yourself you sit and wait

By yourself you will have time to repent

In these lowly halls

No moon will beam, no sun will shine

In these narrow rooms

No tears are seen, no laughter heard

At the dawn of a quiet day

I strolled from the woods, returned to the hearth

And with a restful mind I roamed

The dreary shores, the darkling wilds

Greeting all the days that befall

Taking life as it comes