At The Graveyard...
D
Dm W
0
Altın Yaprak
At the graveyard, I can hear the strange moans
And frought pleas of innumerable ghosts.
In wintertime, they drift ominously
On an icy breeze. Black, skeletal trees
Mirror my fears. And I know that one day
Death's honed claws will also come to claim
Me. Yet I will hold on to the pure Light,
Despite the certainty of dreadful Night.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş