I stand in the land of roses,
the side of him of a land of snow,
where
you and I were hoping
years of long ago.
Nightingales hear the branches
of my dreams,
light of my life, angel of love to me.
Angel of love to me.
I stand again in the north land,
but in a silent, silent shame.
Your grave is my only lunar mark,
and men have forgotten my name.
Tale that is true and sweet,
and then in each stage is failed.
Child
of my dreams,
light of my life, hope of my world to be.
Hope of my world to be.
