Sometimes I feel, long ago life took the last breath from me   Life itself, the grand enemy   The white bride of wretched death, did guide me through gardens gray   The fruit of which, would only fall to rot away      Amidst such vast gardens, even the sun itself doth seem so pallid   And the once glorious moon, its pallor so unhallowed      Seven statues of saddened stance   Perhaps the craft of a man still sadder   Fallen leaves of the thrice dead oak   A morbid portrayal of a once grand majesty      What would one tear filled glimpse stand to reveal?      The subtle fragrance perhaps, of a bloody wretched death   Up on his gray green throne   Stained with the horror of a thousand bloodied suicides   Sate the Suicide Choir      Kneel before the Suicide Choir   Be judged by your suicidal desire