| Once taken by the river, Orpheus died in my arms.
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| His heart, ancient and equal to this fallen empty world,
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| Fades away in the golden truth of all his earthly joy.
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| He is dull dead. |
| He was drowned there.
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| In my hands his fate. |
| He coldly died.
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| Voyage well across the sky my friend.
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| My pain floats down your river to a waterfall.
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| And in this light, hearing cries I look up at you.
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| Your beauty and form appear as great wonders.
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| Awful and yet beautiful to my hopeless weary eyes.
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| His face, still now, it rests in cold hands and colder heart.
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| As I sat and shivered comfortless in this lonely barren land.
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| In a sullen wood, some years ago, he played a song I didn’t know.
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| The trees knew me and knew him more. |
| Whispered our names into their lore.
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| Sing a song of joy with effortless breath. |
| I wrote the words to his death.
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| So on that day, near the glen, my ink drew up his secret end.
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| A kiss, your gift to give away so freely.
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| A gentle suffering thing you were.
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| So steep they fell, my tears to your lips.
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| And that night will be forever. |
| And at night we live forever.
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| And I drew her near to me and away from him.
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| Sin is the root of all sorrow, so look upon, my well is dry.
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| Don’t run my lady. |
| Now please be mine.
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| Come on my lover, you didn’t even try! |