| The gravediggers lick their lips
|
| And push their shovels against the earth
|
| In anticipation, they discretely look my way
|
| No, no, I reproach
|
| You’ve come for the wrong one today
|
| I don’t have the strength to walk away
|
| I wait, afraid
|
| I pray
|
| They stand together, discuissing my fate
|
| The wind carries to them my assurances
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| There’s still warm blood coursing through these veins
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| Impure thoughts inside this brain
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| I wake with a start in a luxurious warm bed
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| Beyond the curtains, I see the cathedral
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| And at her feet, the gravediggers work
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| They turn my way, shouting and smiling mockingly
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| I throw open the delicate lock
|
| Snow rushes in to fall on me
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| No, no, I reproach
|
| You’ve come for the wrong one, I’m afraid
|
| They look at me incredulously
|
| They wait improperly, eyes devouring me
|
| In anticipation, they discretely look my way |