The bedroom is lined with cobwebs, the bed bare and cold My footsteps don't resonate, no, just a cold whisper, his voice A whisper calls me at last, his fingers touch my end. A final heartbeat, a final farewell, and teh parca gives a warm smile to both of them
She has nothing but her cloak, a kind of veil of mourning instead of tears The earth has a different and earthy smell, and her breath calms me words spin its webs, while the flesh breaks And in the hole, without consolation, there is only her wake.
