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.