Moonlight falls upon the willows,
darkness creeps beneath my pillow.
Voices moan from some distant place...
Love has left, without a trace.
Somehow, summer had a poison,
that I drank up, without reason.
Blind and lofty was my passion,
not a feeling, did it ration.
For the Winter's icy fingers,
strangled hopes, without compassion.
Now I sink beneath my memories,
sliding into hellish reverie.