Overtake the rush,
Crash the lines and doors,
Halfway to his grave,
Stumble on her beauty,
Fasten me to his fingers,
Answering their plot with a rhyme,
Be their new, white muse,
Oh, flowering storm of his death.
I hear his verses of love,
By the tree, in their last place,
Halfway to his grave,
I stumble on her beauty,
The light races to me,
His lines would seize me still,
But me? Halfway to his grave,
I stumble on her beauty,
Oh, lantern hear me in his death,
Halfway to his grave.
