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Cold columns surround the solitary clauster
faint moonlight filtered through gothic windows.
Fountains once blowing crystalline water
corrupt today the life of the garden
withered garden of clovers and roses.
Petrified virgin stained by thousand sins
sorrow and bitterness are expressed in your face
anoint the feet of Christ with your grey tears
while I sink the crown of thorns in his head.
The crash of a cross that come down
breaks the silence as a summer storm.
A storm clouds mantle covers the moon
my nocturnal crystal that shows sadness.
Scythe kingdom is ready.
My lady, tell me tales about death and disgrace
tales about angels with ripped wings
tales about the macabre art painted in these walls.
Under the intense gaze of the gargoyles
my repulsion to God increases.
And sickness Dryads are captured by the obscurity.
Under the faint light of the candles
my body intoxicated by the wax smell
remains in a whitered roses bed.

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