Bottle down thine ill sorrow,
tis the night of midnight harrow,
approaching glee with only awing care,
always fleeting tis is and never there.
Listel thine rotting fear, before it be your snare
flesh thoughts be mold to what you do not dare,
never paying back to what is borrow,
yet taking what belongs to the morrow.
tis the night of midnight harrow,
approaching glee with only awing care,
always fleeting tis is and never there.
Listel thine rotting fear, before it be your snare
flesh thoughts be mold to what you do not dare,
never paying back to what is borrow,
yet taking what belongs to the morrow.
