(Cadence Of) The Dirge

Onto the street proceed

The hearse and limousine

Laying in the casket

The

Corpse of inner joy

Questioning time

All hope for loving died

Greying haze of the

Autumn skies

Stone cold hearts retract

Amongst the knives

Within a dream that

Commits itself to grief

Resurrected by a black

Wreath

Why

Where

How

Heaving sob seizures

Roused by the view

Of true love embalmed in a

Box

Grovel

Beg

Plead for a

Sign

But never mind

'Cause bliss is now a word

Left far behind

Bliss buried in a sepulchre

Customized

By the hand of rage

The birth of a violent age

Reminds all that

Abstinence makes the

Heart grow floundering

Perish the memory

Scream in agony

Love is late

Love is late

A sorrow raising surge

Lies in the cadence of the

Dirge