Meagre trees in the shrouds, as old as the stones... Mourners of abandon'd love, forever their woes shall grow silent. O how many times may the moon has shone - reflected in these black lakes?
Should it be that can hear, the woes of those who ceased their lifes? ♪ O so old they are... they bare the neverending grief... ♪ Age-old miserability Ancient bitter beauty ♪ Lost is the hope of those, who walk the moors with pain in heart. ♪ ...and all joy it sinks, burried deep, forever presumed dead. ♪ O, so old they are... they bare the neverending grief... ♪ Age - old miserability, a bitter beauty thrilling me