...
Show More
For tears are music too and keep a song unheard in hearts that weep.
But the dead has lost his pain and weeps no more.
Death cannot be what life is, child. The cup of death is empty, and life has always hope.
There lives not in my life any more the hope that others have. Nor will I tell the lie to mine own heart, that all is well or shall be well...
The dust as smoke rises, it spreads wide its wing. It makes me as a shadow, and my city a vanished thing.
Out on the smoke she goes, and her name no man knows.
But the dead has lost his pain and weeps no more.
Death cannot be what life is, child. The cup of death is empty, and life has always hope.
There lives not in my life any more the hope that others have. Nor will I tell the lie to mine own heart, that all is well or shall be well...
The dust as smoke rises, it spreads wide its wing. It makes me as a shadow, and my city a vanished thing.
Out on the smoke she goes, and her name no man knows.