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• Artiste: Winters thrall
• Titre: November
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The table set for you now, this one last time We lay your body gently down, and gather around A cheap pine box, my covenant, I'll not forget Your hands once warm and full of love, grown cold in death My sweet November To you he flies All must surrender to her We all must die Now Winter holds you in her thrall, the sun turns red The cold, hard earth is calling you into her bed How soon our precious love is spent and desolate The ages waste in passing, erase the dead My sweet November To you he flies All must surrender to her We all must die I miss you more with every day I miss you more than words can say And, hunted by the jealous grave, My heart is empty