The Hour of Death
My God, have mercy upon me in this Hour of Death.
I pray for thee to take my life instead of the one´s I so dearly love.
Her face is like the ivory of the distant realms
And as I hold her hand in mine, I clearly feel it´s turning so cold�
Like marble or snow.
Remembering the days of joy, not so long ago.
Those memories just increase the grief as I watch the withering of the beauty.
How can it be that tomorrow she´s not here and I remain.
There has to be some kind of way that we can be together again.
As she fades away,
Like a statue made of clay.
All I wish is to be in the grave with her,
Slowly transforming back to dirt.
Deep under the sacred ground.
No-one will be able to part us now.
Autor(es): Albert Witchfinder
