Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Gloomy Sunday...

The walls of the mighty tower are falling,
The hopes which guard the walls are failing,
And I am drifting into the vast sky of emptyness,
Where there is nothing but agony and sadness.

Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless,
Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless,
Little white flowers will never awaken you,
Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you,
Angels have no thought of ever returning you,
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?


Gloomy Sunday.

Gloomy is Sunday, with shadows I spend it all.
My heart and I have decided to end it all.
Soon there'll be candles and prayers that are sad, I know.
But let them not weep, let them know that I'm glad to go.
Death is no dream, for in death I'm caressing you.
With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessing you.


Gloomy Sunday.

They say that the soul and body separates during death,
But what about those living in boredom,
What about those living in loneliness,
Will only death do their souls apart?