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