I often hunt you in my dreams,
|
But your wicked claw awaits me,
|
Aboard this snow-lit island,
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Veins like tortured winter trees,
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'Tis the service of my hand,
|
That silence climbs upon thee.
|
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You are sweet and fine to listen to!
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Long tresses about your neck,
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Yet much is false.
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This mighty evening,
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I've seen no face.
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This is crushing me.
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My quill it aches.
|
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And old ships die like swans,
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Against our frozen icy shore,
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Pass your dying body,
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I leave you in your thoughts
|
|
Trees dance and fail
|
Tell them I came
|
My beauty pale
|
Was yours the same?
|
|
Viens, il est temps de partir
|
Je vais regretter ta haine
|
Ta vainte triomphante
|
Fera sa reverence
|
|
I laid them in books
|
Just your heart and mine
|
For lovers to read
|
The lonely to pine
|
|
Through my broken skin
|
And cherry tree blood
|
The real world falls in
|
A false life of love
|
|
-----------------
|
Vanite Triomphante
|
| My Dying Bride |
