Kiss the image in a stranger's casket
What has become of the splendor?
Twelve strokes have fallen
And the faintly heard breath
That argued my beauty
A ruined soul bewailing
Where the angels allow their wings bewilted
To droop, to bow to the bosom of a friend
Kiss me tenderly, savage God
My lips are dumb to speak a thousand inane words
And how sweet a toil
All is dark, all is blackened
All, but an upturned face
What has become of the splendor?
Twelve strokes have fallen
And the faintly heard breath
That argued my beauty
A ruined soul bewailing
Where the angels allow their wings bewilted
To droop, to bow to the bosom of a friend
Kiss me tenderly, savage God
My lips are dumb to speak a thousand inane words
And how sweet a toil
All is dark, all is blackened
All, but an upturned face
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