On the November first
We remember the dead
Our late parents see our grief now and then
Millions of persons dressed in black
Their weak affliction at the requiem mass

They buy the flowers
Then come to the graveyard
A vase full of water and visit of the sepulchre
They now you're dead and speak to you
Their weak devotion's a joke
To the entombed

Church bell tolls awakening the graveyard
It's not time to rot, must rise from the dark
Evocations of death, smiling of the dead
Commemorated ones leave their mortuary chapels

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