Like a gentle giant of fine marble,
Dark magic permeates this place;
A glance itself would make the subtle,
Not - knowing hearts of angels race.
It makes me laugh, the faint memories
Of all their faces, all their lies,
The cruel words 'She's dead.' that buried
You in the wasteland of their minds.
But still, we stay to feast tonight too,
And then - I'll take the lead - to dance,
As all our sufferings give birth to
A truly immortal romance.
Like eyes ablaze, candlelights give us
A pale, astonished audience;
Remember: against love like ours,
The underworld gives no defence.
