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