Art of Death act III: The Requiem of the Funeral Eve

Beautiful evening turns to night.
Clouds they gather to the darkening sky.
Storm is rising, but still it’s calm.
As I’ve been writing this requiem.
I — am powerless, wallow in this feeling;
I — am breathless, hear the sound of mourning;
Distant church bells begin to toll.
I rise listen, feel it in my soul.
I’m getting weaker, but I need to write.
I stare these woods, this one last time.
I — am powerless, wallow in this feeling;
I — am breathless, hear the sound of mourning;
I grow weaker by the hour, I cannot sleep.
My heart’s heavy for departure. In this final moment;
I feel growing weakness, cannot breath.
My heart’s last heavy beating. As I write this requiem.
I kneel down and lower my head.
Silent chanting fills the air.
It’s time to begin the funeral.
From this edge I bid the last farewell.
I — am powerless, wallow in this feeling;
I — am breathless, hear the sound of mourning;
I grow weaker by the hour, I cannot sleep.
My heart’s heavy for departure. In this final moment;
I feel growing weakness, cannot breath.
My heart’s last heavy beating. As I write this requiem.