Youthful dreamers, you and I;
We lived, we loved, and now we die.
Fate brings down Her sacred knife,
Enacts Her judgement, ends our life.
How beautiful, my spectral bride;
Entwined as one until we died.
But now, my dearest, we must part
No longer can you keep my heart.
For is there place for love in Death?
Can gentle whispers leave His breath?
Or is there but a lifeless hole
Within His cursèd, blackened soul?
Was Fate once Death's, and Death's alone,
Seated upon His deathly throne?
Together, did They walk the land,
Floating, gliding, hand in hand?
For Death's sake does Fate try mankind,
Condemning all who are maligned,
Attempting to renew His joy;
His newfound love: to haunt, destroy?
Perhaps 'twas Fate who wrote Death's doom,
Enclosing Him within His tomb;
With every soul He claims as His,
Losing meaning, what was, what is.
You think you can subdue Death's plight;
You aim to be His shining light.
You wish for Him to smile once more,
To cease His raging inner war.
Alas, my dearest, don't you see?
No mortal soul will end Death's plea.
Your spirit He already owns,
And no less mournful are His moans.
In time your soul will come to rest;
You'll truly think that you've been blessed;
But once Death gives His final roar,
You'll be the one we all abhor.
You'll grasp Death's scythe in your clenched fist,
And don His robes of evil mist.
My dearest, do not fall insane,
Lest dawns your dark, infernal reign.