Translation:Willow

Lyricism of winter, murmur of funeral ribbons, when the rushed parting now approaches; prophesying voices in sad songs that pray a farewell in the evening.

Vision of the burial of my hopes in the very tomb of mortal injury. Veronica charity of unknown regions, where life is lost for the price of ether.

Near the aurora I will depart crying; and while my years curve as they go, my speedy route will curve the scythes.

And before cold oils of a dying moon, with the timbres of steel on indolent earth, the dogs will dig, howling, a goodbye!