Meagre trees in the shrouds
As olde as the stones....
Mourners of abandon'd love
Fornever their woes shall grow silent

O how many times may the moon has shone
-reflected in these black lakes?
Should it be that we 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