Transcendence

Your warmth is false

Inside your hollow bosom

You'll hide the solitude

Of the distant stars

In your party none celebrates

Grey autumn transcendence

Minutes turn into oblivion

Our voices to mould

Your hangman smile

My soul in your hands

I drink from your breasts

Grey autumn solitude

And I can see through your eyes

It's time to go

And I can see through your smile

It's time to go

All those long dead hours

Frequent time stops

Minutes turn into oblivion

Our voices to mould

Drowned wasps floating

in the chalice of the sweet nectar

all those beautiful moths eaten by flies

in this bizarre carnival

of a life-lasting funeral

Grey autumn

Play your lyre

For one last time